


If Ever There Were A Lucky Kind

by jephanie



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animal Death, Blessed Are The Peacemakers, Brief ableist language, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 3, Domestic Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Glacial Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Multi, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, References to Domestic Violence, Slow Burn, animal cruelty, micah sucks, ongoing, references to non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:24:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 88,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jephanie/pseuds/jephanie
Summary: Effie Elwood was the kind-of doctor to the O'Driscoll boys, but messed all of that up by killing Colm's right hand man. Now her first ticket out is a man hanging by his ankles- it's a risky bet, and she's exchanging bad odds for worse ones. Now she finds herself swept up in a new outlaw gang, trying to confront the demons of her past while trying to survive the demons yet to come. Takes place during Chapter 3.Also the kind of slow burn where theres not even gonna be hand holding until like chapter 20.Tags updated as chapters are updated. Same with the ships- just kinda letting them develop as I write so who knows what we'll end up with. Currently an accidental harem?? Idk





	1. say, say, my playmate

Laughter came from upstairs, along with the sound of glass bottles hitting wood. Effie had been awake for a while now, but feigned continued unconsciousness when she’d heard some of the boys come down the stairs earlier. Some outlaws were against beating women. The O’Driscolls weren’t the sort. It had been particularly difficult for her to stay still and limp as one of them had kicked her in the side. 

“That was for Nate,” one had said. Evans. Poison dripped from his words. It was only yesterday that she had sat with him around the campfire, singing raucous songs about fucking women, the men not even flinching at their vocabulary while she was in their presence. She’d been around so long, she was just like one of the boys.  
Effie took the blow, staying silent and still. She stayed like that the entire time they were downstairs. There was the clanking of chains, sounds of fists pounding flesh- she knew that one readily by now- and the low grunt of a man in pain. She kept her eyes closed for a while after, listening to the sound of liquid dripping onto pressed dirt. She opened her eyes when they started singing again. 

The man, dressed in nothing but red johns, swayed slightly from his feet. The chains that held fast around his ankles had seen much use in their time and gave slight rusty creaks. The gentle pat pat pat came from the blood oozing from his shoulder. His fingertips drew tiny circles in the muck as he swung ever so slightly. Effie had seen plenty of shotgun wounds. She’d seen plenty of beaten men, too. To this degree though, no. 

She thought him to be unconscious, but some primal sense must have alerted him of something staring, and he began to stir, swaying slightly and trying to blink away the blood trickling hear his eye. He mumbled something incoherent as he collected his consciousness, and then jerked as he finally came to, breathing fast and looking around wildly. His sight fell upon her, and though he was chained, innocuous to her, a chill rippled down her back.  
She had known many killers in her time. She was one. There were a few, though, who killed often enough that their eyes settled into a clear, calculating state. The eyes of a hunter, examining their prey, ready to strike. 

From behind crusted blood and swollen, dark bruising, those eyes bored into her. Terrified as she was, she couldn’t seem to look away.  
Footsteps resounded from the stone steps. Colm stumbled into the darkness, his large frame blocking the light from the dug-out stairwell. The man had the sense to close his eyes, but Colm had caught her staring. A chuckle escaped from his lips.

“The lady of the hour,” he slurred, crouching to look at her. He leaned in, his greasy hair falling in strings over his face. Prodding at her cheek with the mouth of his beer bottle, he laughed. Stale alcohol wafted into Effie’s nose. “What a little bitch you are.” He raised the bottle to his lips, drank deeply, Adam’s apple bobbing. Effie could almost see the sluggish throb of the vessels in his neck. He suddenly grabbed her face, untrimmed nails cutting into her cheekbones. “Thought you could get off easy, you little slut? You’re going to be real sorry for what you did.” He stood up, slamming her head into the pole she was bound to. She saw stars as wood connected with the already-tender goose egg on her temple, and a wave of nausea rose within her. 

Colm had thankfully turned his attention to the hanged man, though she couldn’t hear the words exchanged over the ringing in her ears. She clenched her jaw to ride out another wave of pain, but once it passed, Colm had stumbled back upstairs. The man was unconscious again, swinging at a slightly wider arc. Blood was once again seeping from the wound in his shoulder. 

Effie watched him. Things had pretty much gone to shit. She had gotten off pretty easily so far, only suffering a beating after Nate’s body had been found. A pretty severe one, judging by her certain concussion, but it could be much worse. The men’s trousers she wore were still tightly belted around her waist, but it was only a matter of time before one of the boys drunkenly stumbled down the stairs to find a young woman, helplessly tied up in a basement. She had to get out of there, and soon. Tonight.

She looked the man up and down. He was definitely much worse off than her, with a dark spot of crusted blood on his head that rivaled hers, the point-blank shot in in shoulder, and doubtless beatings he’d already suffered. Thankfully the boys still had enough manners to hold back a bit when beating a woman. This feller wasn’t so lucky. Still, broken as he was, she was her ticket out. She just had to figure out how. Effie spent the next hour or so scanning the room for something, anything, that she could use. Judging from the sounds upstairs, the boys were still drinking and singing. For them to celebrate this long, this guy either must have a huge price on his head, or Colm must have some sort of grudge against him, or both. It was at least uplifting to know this guy had about as much of a future as she did if they didn’t do something about it. She finally set sights on the table next to the man and had to choke back a laugh. Mattias must’ve been the last one to be keeping watch down here, and he left his stupid nail file. He was constantly fussing over his hands and fingernails, claiming “it was what the ladies liked”, but Effie knew for a fact that the last working woman he had passed coin to had flat-out refused him.

Stupid fucking Mattias. God bless him, she thought. 

Some time passed before the man opened his eyes again, but he seemed much more alert than before. His eyes swept the room, looking for something- anything-

“Table,” Effie whispered, quietly as she could. “File.” He blinked, eyes still cloudy from unconsciousness, but found the file. Reached for it. Effie sucked in a breath sympathetically has he raised his arm- the one with the shot shoulder- reaching.

Inches short. Effie cursed herself. Fucking Mattias, she thought again. Could’ve put the fucking file just a little bit closer. Goddammit. However, the man wasn’t quite done yet. To her astonishment, he began rocking himself back and forth, swinging, grunting as he kept reaching further, closer- Effie bit her lip as his fingers brushed the thin metal handle- and on the next swing he got it, letting himself relax with the file clutched in his hand. He didn’t rest long, though- after taking a few quick breaths to ready himself, he reached up, curling muscles straining, and managed to find the hole of the lock with the file. He made quick work of it, using brute force rather than careful lockpicking, and fell to the ground in a heap. Effie winced sympathetically. 

Effie bit her tongue, hoping that none of the boys heard the clang of chains opening and the whoosh of air that escaped the man’s lungs as he hit the ground. Thankfully, the words to ring dang doo continued to float down the stairwell. The man didn’t seem to care if he made any noise or not, dragging himself into the chair by the table, and began heating the nail file over the lit candle.

“Hey,” Effie whispered, hoping to get his attention. He didn’t seem to hear her, and instead plunged the blade into his bullet wound. A strangled groan escape from his throat, and Effie watched in horror has he scraped and twisted the heated metal around the wound. This man had clearly been through some shit in his life and knew even more shit because of it. She was shocked even more still when he opened an ammunition cartridge she hadn’t even spotted from the table, dumped the gunpowder over the wound, and lit it with the candle. This time he had trouble containing the scream bubbling in his throat. 

Now they were on a time limit. Drunk as they were, one of the boys must have heard the noise, and she was right- a flicker of lantern light lit the stairwell. The man still sat with the fail file and candle in hand, eyes unfocused and dazed. 

“Get,” Effie whispered sharply, praying that she was loud enough to get his attention. He blinked, eyes focusing again, then as if through pure muscle memory, flattened himself against a wall, nail file in hand, blade out. The file was in Mattias’s neck swiftly and quietly, and he didn’t even blink. God bless you Mattias, she thought. If you can do one thing right it’s die quiet. Zombielike, the man grabbed the knife sheathed at Mattias’s belt and began start for the stairs. 

“Hey!” Effie whisper-yelled. “Hey!” It took a moment for him to locate her voice, but he lumbered over and made quick work of the ropes around her ankles and wrists. Effie hissed as the knife sliced across the back of her wrist, but it was better than nothing. She bolted to her feet, teetering as her knees and hips ached from being in such as strange position for so long, and continued the way the man had been heading. She crept up the stairs, hearing his breathing through gritted teeth behind her. He was remarkably quiet, considering how it was a miracle he was standing at all. 

She crouched at the mouth of the stairway, peering into the camp ahead. Many of the boys were passed out, heads resting around the logs. The campfire was dying, reduced to a few smoldering embers, but someone still poked at it with a fire stick, sending orange sparks floating lazily into the sky. Behind a tent, she saw the movement of swishing tails where the horses stood idly at the hitch posts. 

She was about to whisper instructions to the man, but as she turned he brushed past her, moving at a brisk hunters walk toward the horses, sticking close to the shadows. Effie swore under her breath. Now or never, she thought. She had always hoped to leave the gang someday. She was only in it because of her father and had only stayed because of her found family. That was thrown away now, though. Any relationships she’d had drained out of Nate’s neck as he died below her. 

The man somehow made it to the horses, and she did too by following his tracks- he clearly knew his way around a camp, she noted. He grabbed the reins of a mare she didn’t recognize with a mottled brown and white coat, and the horse shuddered under the familiar touch. He looked back at Effie now, twirling his finger in the air in a pathetically weak let’s go gesture, and she mounted Nate’s old horse Bay. At this point they had made enough of a disturbance for the one at the fire to stand up and investigate. 

“Hey!” Everett’s voice cut through the night, painful and swift as a knife to Effie’s ears. “Hey! They’re taking the horses!” 

By now the man had already taken off at a swift gallop and Effie kicked at Bay’s sides, urging him to catch up. Blasts of gunfire echoed blaringly loud in the night, and Effie felt a bullet hiss uncomfortably close to her ear. A blaze of pain flared across her cheek as another grazed her face, and Effie whispered curses. That had to be Denton. Always a good shot. A moment later Denton proved himself a marksman as Bay let out a pained whinny and suddenly she was falling, tumbling across the prairie ground, her arm hitting something hard, a clear white pain as the bone broke- and Effie scrambled back to her feet, running now, tears of pain brimming in her eyes as she clutched her arm to her chest- then hoofbeats, suddenly close, this is it, and a huge hand grabbed her good arm and she was off the ground. Her legs instinctually found their way around the horses back, and then suddenly they were galloping, one of her arms wrapped around the man’s waist, the other feeling as if it were full of shattered bone scraping together as the horse’s body rocked. Effie pressed her face into the man’s back, dampening it with the pain-tears streaming down her face, breathing in the scent of blood and smoke and sweat from those dirty long johns. The man rode erratically, dangerously, cutting through thickets of brush and wood, until the sound of gunfire faded.

When Effie finally lifted her head the sun had risen, and she was lost. She still clung to the man and felt hot, painful pressure where her arm had swelled, but she did not recognize any of her surroundings. The temperature had gotten significantly warmer. That, and the heat from the man’s body radiated onto her. Fever, Effie realized, and scanned the ground. She didn’t know where she was, never mind what herbs grew around here. Then again, she couldn’t see a way that she would be able to get off the horse without injuring herself further. All the while the horse kept a steady, not-quite trotting pace. 

“Hey,” Effie said, hushed. She used her good arm to jostle the man, who was nearly doubled over. She realized her arm was wet, and warm- probably his blood. His head twitched in acknowledgement, letting her know his was at least partially aware of what was going on. “We need to stop, get some help. I know a thing or two about medicine,” she offered. He mumbled incomprehensibly. From what she could tell, his eyes were barely open. “We need to get somewhere safe.” Well, there was one place in the world that she had considered safe, but she was what- almost a day’s ride and a few burned bridges away from that. “Do you know somewhere safe? So we can get help?”

He mumbled again, giving the horses neck a halfhearted pat. “Home.” He learned forward still, resting against the horses mane. His eyes were glazed, his breathing shallow. He raised a hand, giving a weak two fingered salute in the direction the horse was going. “Home,” he said again, and his eyes closed.

Effie looked around. She has dead before, back in that basement. Her prospects weren’t exactly looking up now. She has on a horse going who knows where, with a half-dead man guilty of who knows what, all the while she was guilty of some pretty bad shit herself and at best, slightly less injured. Even if they stopped, the man would certainly die even with the medical care that Effie would be able to scrounge up with one good arm. Even if she could help, they were destined to starve to death, probably. 

There’s a reason why I’ve never made a good gambler, she thought. Traded bad odds for worse odds. Now her best bet was to try her best to use one arm to keep the stranger on his horse and pray that it knew where it was going. 

The sun had set, and the most the man had done since then was mumble a couple of names Effie couldn’t quite make out. The horse continued, head bobbing as it walked. At this point her good arm was screaming as well after hours of trying to keep his man balanced on the horse, and it didn’t help that he was huge and solidly built. It was all she could do to keep him in place and keep her eyes open at the same time. 

After what seemed like hours into the nighttime, the horse picked up the pace to a steady trot toward a group of trees. The man sensed the change, and tried to sit up in vain. Effie herself was leaning on the man, just trying to stay away through the exhaustion and pain in her arm. What woke her up was the shout that echoed through the trees.

“Who goes there?” 

Effie gave a start, and the man tried to answer, his voice failing him and instead let out a long groan. The horse continued through the trees and emerged into a clearing, where the man suddenly began to slide off the horse. Without any strength left, Effie fell with him in a tangle of limbs. The man fell on her broken arm, and she cried out, which stirred movement and noise in the camp.

“Arthur?!” A woman’s voice cried out. A dark-haired woman appeared above her, shaking the man- Arthur- and trying to rouse him and shouting for help. Effie whimpered, and the woman suddenly seemed to just realize she was there too. She rolled the huge man off her arm and Effie let out another whimper. In that moment of relief, she decided that she would love this angel, this angel from God for the rest of her life. Another face- this one surrounded by blonde curls, was now dribbling water from a canteen onto her cracked lips, and Effie decided she was an angel as well, and that she was truly blessed. 

Then two more faces appeared above her, and in that instant she was damned. 

One, with a dark mustache, dark hair, and dark eyes, a face that she had been trained to recognize, and hate. Dutch van der Linde. 

The other, who she’d only shared a camp with for a week, who was supposed to be dead, whose eyes widened as he recognized her and at the same time, who probably sentenced her to death. 

“Miss Elwood?” He said and van der Linde’s eyes darted between his face and hers. 

Effie closed her eyes, knowing then that her bet had gone wrong. 

Kieran Duffy.


	2. won't you lay hands on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are things looking up? Nope, not really.

They initially paid her no mind. 

Dutch van der Linde had looked between her and the aghast Kieran Duffy, undoubtedly making a connection between Kieran’s past and Effie. Effie stared at van der Linde, making the connection that she had just dropped herself straight into Colm’s archenemy’s hands, and that she had helped Arthur Morgan- the Arthur Morgan, right hand man of Dutch van der Linde- escape from the O’Driscolls. Probable certain death was in front of her and behind her. The van der Lindes and the O’Driscolls, hated by both.

Thankfully van der Linde had quickly turned his attention to his fallen lieutenant and was leading him back toward the lean-tos with the help of some of the other men. At this point Effie, now wildly exhausted and accepting that her situation was now completely fucked, decided that where she had landed after tumbling off Arthur’s horse was where she was going to stay. The others had different ideas, though, half carrying and half dragging her toward one of the campfires. A woman with dark hair checked her injuries. Effie let herself be poked and prodded, too tired to give much of a shit. She probably looked an absolute wreck, half beaten, half bloodied, and having a balloon for a right arm. When the woman prodded it, a yelp escaped from Effie’s throat. 

“Shit,” she said, biting her lip and looking around. At this point a few others had come to gawk at her- the woman with the blonde ringlets, a ginger man, a younger black woman. A stocky man with dark skin and long black hair much like her own, and then Kieran. He was still gawking, and Effie began to hair the whispers of “O’Driscoll” filtering throughout the camp. She winced at that- “Sorry,” whispered the dark-haired woman- and tried to enjoy the nice warmth of the campfire while she could.

“Anyone know how to set a bone?” she asked. Fuck. An animal instinct overcame Effie- she knew what it was like to set a bone and was thankful she’d never had it done to herself- and she tried to scramble away from the fire, intent on not feeling any more pain for at least a little while. The dark haired woman held fast, stronger than she looked. That or Effie’s situation was even more pathetic that she realized. 

The long haired man sighed. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m going to need help holding her down. Sean, grab her legs, Kieran other arm. Abigail, try to keep her calm.” 

They were on top of her in a heartbeat, immobilizing her completely on the ground. Sean, the ginger one, simply sat on her thighs, and Kieran had her left arm in a tight iron grip. Her heart began racing, her pulse throbbing in her ears. The long haired man disappeared for a second, coming back with a few thin wooden boards and a few strips of fabric. He sat on her chest, careful to not put all his weight on her, securing her shoulder with his knee. He then untied a bandana from around his neck, balled it up, and shoved it into Effie’s mouth. It tasted like sweat and smoke. The woman- Abigail- put Effie’s head on her lap, palms on her cheeks, stinging where the bullet grazed her cheekbone. 

“I need to figure out how bad the break is,” the man said quietly. Effie began to protest, cries muffled by the cloth in her mouth- she had seen grown men cry during this procedure- that was why she got them half drunk to do it- where was her alcohol?- right, she was not supposed to be here, she didn’t belong here, didn’t deserve their whiskey- and then fingers were prodding into her swollen flesh, and she could swear thousands of splinters of glass were scraping against each other- she screamed, barely any noise coming from the gag-

“I think it’s clean,” the man said. Tears of pain were flowing down Effie’s face. She was hyperventilating, but none of the air was getting into her lungs. Kieran’s grip around her other arm got tighter, pinching. Abigail held her head firmly in place on her lap. “I’m going to try to set it, but Miss Grimshaw should take another look at it later. Sean, Kieran, hold her tight.”

He began to set the bone. She passed out. 

 

She woke up late the next morning. Her arm still throbbed, but it was neatly splinted and slung over her chest. She was leaning against a tree, left arm raised and tied to a low hanging branch, and she tried to scrape her face against her raised shoulder, to get rid of the itch of dried blood that still caked her cheek.  
She started this whole predicament tied up. She was now tied up again, but alive. A win in her book. Plus they were merciful in keeping her captive here, as the single bound hand gave her at least a little bit of freedom. Besides, there was not really any way she could see that she’d be able to escape in her state, the heat radiating from her arm told her that it was still wildly swollen, and the van der Lindes were obviously aware of this as well. 

Plus its not like she had any idea of where to go. 

Her tree was a little way off the main camp, close to a small stream that ran down into the lake. The burbling of the water covered up a lot of the noise of the camp, so it was hard to make out what they were saying, but she saw and older woman walking briskly between tends, changing out bloody bandages for clean ones. Van der Linde and an older man seemed to be having a heated argument, van der Linde’s face turning beet red. He was wildly gesturing to a lean to- next to him, but from Effie’s perspective, all she could make out were a pair of feet, hanging over a too-short cot. 

What Effie wanted more than anything was to go back to four months ago, as she hid with the best of the boys in the mountains from the law. Sure, the four feet of snow was the bane of her existence at the time as she tried her best to prevent frostbite for those who either couldn’t afford coats or lost the chance to retrieve them before running, but now tears almost formed in her eyes when she thought about putting a handful of ice on her arm. Those times had been terrible, certainly, but they were also some of the best. Nate was there, keeping her warm with his huge body, holding her close under layers of blankets, teaching her new card games and songs with the rest of the boys. It was almost like a vacation from their normal life, except they’d traded the possibility of dying by noose for dying by the elements. 

The time in the Heartlands wasn’t too bad, either- the boys were cheerful, enjoying the open space that allowed them to steal out of eyesight of the local sheriffs and deputies, pointing out constellations on clear nights that Effie was mainly sure they’d just made up, hunting game that their cook Abe would add native spices to. Abe- that was what the boys called him, for they couldn’t pronounce his real name. New as he was, he made himself a father to her- he had immediately recognized her rich skin and long, blue-black hair, but was disappointed to find that she had grown up around white men and knew nothing of her mother’s people. He took those cold months in the Grizzles to tell her stories about spirits and warriors and gods and monsters, began showing her traditional uses for herbs as medicine once they were back around green plant life. Effie was happy to learn, especially about the medicinal uses of plants she’d seen for years, but still felt lost, a disappointment to River Flows. He told her so much about his family, how his people were pushed from their land to reservation to even smaller reservation, about how he and his brothers broke their way out of an assimilation school, the struggles of living on this land for centuries but now being told it wasn’t theirs. How he became angry about what had become of his people and began to make mistakes that his family couldn’t overlook. She’d sat and listened, unable to relate to any of the struggles he had. She’d been raised by her father, a German doctor, who had gotten a native woman pregnant. Effie knew nothing of her, except that her father had inexplicably spirited her away shortly after her birth and raised. Yet, she couldn’t really relate to the other boys either. Afterall she- the woman of the group, much more innocent in the others in numerous ways- was the one given dirty glares in general stores, not the band of actual thieves and murderers.

Despite growing up in the margin between two worlds, not really figuring out who she was supposed to be, who society wanted her to be, she had finally found a place for herself with that group of ragtag ne’er-do-wells, letting herself become one of the boys while Nate kept an eye on her, making sure no one tried anything stupid with her.  
Effie had really fucked that up, though. 

 

Movement in her direction caught her eye, and Effie saw a blonde woman- unlike the others, wearing men’s trousers and riding boots. She carried a washbasin, a canteen, and a bread roll. 

Effie eyed her cautiously as she approached. The woman laid down the supplies silently, opened the canteen, and held it to Effie’s lips. Effie drank deeply, the plain water tasting better than candy. The woman then let her take a few bites of the bread roll before retrieving a rag from the washbasin. She wrung it out, then began to dab gently at the dried blood on Effie’s face. The beige rag began to turn dark brown, then pinkish. 

“Thanks,” Effie said, her voice hoarse. The woman didn’t acknowledge her. There were deep circles under her eyes- she probably didn’t sleep last night. There were a few faint lines around her eyes and mouth, showing that she was either slightly older than the women who had previously tended to her, or she had been through some rough times. Probably both, if she were living in an outlaw camp. Still, the rough living wasn’t enough to cover up her beauty- she had wide eyes and cute, upturned nose. She must be tough as nails, or else the men here would probably take every advantage to harass her. That was how it was for Effie before Nate noticed her.

The woman kept dabbing her face for a few minutes, then paused to wring out the washcloth. Reddish water dripped into the basin. She cleared her throat. Her voice was lower than Effie had expected, scratchy. “Ever hear of a place called Adler Ranch?” 

“No ma’am,” Effie responded. The woman continued wringing out the washcloth. Her knuckles stood out white against the brownish stains. 

“Ever hear of a man called Jake Adler?” The woman’s voice was cold. Effie’s mind flashed back to the moment back in that basin when Arthur had first opened his eyes. Cold eyes. Hunter's eyes. Killer's eyes.

“No ma’am.” Effie tried her best to seem relaxed. She couldn’t think of an Adler Ranch. She didn’t know a Jake Adler. However, the icy fury radiating off this woman told her that she suspected Effie did. 

“You’re an O’Driscoll though, right?” The woman balled up the cloth in a fist and leaned in close, studying her. Her eyes were devoid of emotion. Effie didn’t answer, clenched her jaw. She was no stranger to what the boys did. She hadn’t heard of any Adlers, but a lot of the boys had a reputation. Turning a blind eye was just fine for Effie as long as nothing of the sort happened to her. 

The woman raised the washcloth up to Effie’s face again. The lines and circles and marks of fatigue on her face seemed darker now, framing the lines of a skull, an angel of death. Effie tried as hard as she could not to flinch or look away. Or breathe. She became very aware of the long hunting knife sheathed on the woman’s gun belt. 

Effie had the lead-heavy feeling that this woman would slit her throat right now and watch her blood seep out across her chest, too much mess for that little white washcloth to clean up. 

“Sadie,” a deep voice called out. The woman held eye contact for a few moments longer, then stood up with the basin, shoving the remainder of the roll in her mouth, and walked off without another word. The long-haired man was standing a few paces behind her, dark eyes impassive. 

“Charles,” Sadie muttered as she passed.

Effie only then noticed her shirt damp with sweat. 

Charles knelt next to her. Effie’s heart was pounding, and it didn’t help when he removed her broken arm from the sling, examining it. He didn’t say anything, but didn’t look overly concerned either, so Effie assumed he was satisfied with the set. He had big hands, boxer’s hands, but they were gentle handling her swollen arm, careful not to apply too much pressure. She noticed dark circles around his eyes as well. Must’ve been that none of them slept last night. Her mind flashed back to Arthur’s motionless feet sticking out from his cot.

“The other guy okay?” Effie asked quietly. “Arthur Morgan.”

He let out a puff of air through his nose that Effie took for a laugh. “He’s a tough son a bitch,” he replied, gently putting her arm back in the sling. “He could get hit by a train and walk it off.”

Effie felt a bit of hope in her chest. Maybe since Arthur would pull through, the van der Lindes would show her at least a little mercy. “Do you know what’s happening next?”

He stood up, patting the dirt off his knees. “Not my decision,” he said, walking away. Man of few words, Effie noted. 

“Dutch’ll talk to you later,” he called over his shoulder. Effie’s mood soured. Dutch van der Linde. Traitor. Murderer. Con man. She was going to have to bargain for her life to a man that had taken so many of her friends. 

At least she was alive, for the time being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yee haw


	3. mirror my melody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie finally meets Dutch van der Linde. Things go okay, but then they dont.  
> CHAPTER WARNING: ANIMAL CRUELTY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN: Animal cruelty toward the end. Also some period-typical racism, but briefly.

Two days later Kieran came to her and cut the rope attaching her to the tree. He held out the knife in front of him and made an apologetic face. “Don’t try anything.”

“Oh, Duffy,” Effie said, using the tree to help get herself up, swinging her good arm in circles, stretching. “I’m about as dangerous as a toothless rattler.”

“They don’t know that,” Kieran said. “They still think you’re an O’Driscoll.”

“And you’re not?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore. These folk… they’s good people.”

“They’re a bunch of murderers,” Effie replied. She’d seen what they could do, visiting the aftermath of some of the camps after van der Linde ambushes. Bodies, many she knew and had taken care of at some point, riddled with holes. If any of them were still alive when she got to them, they told stories of how their twenty-person camp was slaughtered by just two or three people. One of those people was usually Arthur Morgan. Who she’d held onto for an entire day as they were both dying. 

Kieran stopped and stared at her. “And you’re not?”

“Shut up.” Blood on her hands, by her hand. That was just the one on purpose. 

“Look, they’re good people, Effie. I mean they did have me tied to this tree and tried to geld me once-“

“What?”

“Not important anymore. I worked hard and now I’m one of them. You probably still think you was in a family back there. I did. But the truth is there isn’t a single O’Driscoll who would come out here to rescue you, because no one cared about each other, not really. These folk- if I got arrested or somethin’- hell, they’d break me out and probably kill a few to do it.”

He put a hand on her shoulder awkwardly, still holding the knife. “Look. I don’t know what you did to piss them off so goddamn much for them to do this to you, but I can sure as hell tell you that they’re especially not happy that you got Arthur out of there.”

Effie blinked rapidly, unsure of what to say. Kieran had a point- there was no way in hell she would ever be able to walk back into an O’Driscoll camp and walk back out alive. But she’d been there so goddamn long. She made friends, a family- or, well what she thought was a family, but after Kieran’s words she didn’t recall a single one of them holding back kicks or punches, remembered them whispering to each other about what they wanted to do to her while tying her up. Maybe it was in her head the entire time. Maybe it was just her looking for what she never had in the wrong place, and pretending like she’d found it. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t real for her, the ones she saw as little brothers, that she cared for after animal attacks or accidents, that she shed tears over while standing at their nondescript graves in the middle of the wilderness. Could something be a family, but only for one person?

Kieran must’ve seen her expression shift. “Effie, I’ve been where you are. It’s gonna be better than this, and you’re gonna be happy here, but you just gotta talk. They asked me about you already. You just gotta tell ‘em the same thing, then you might hold a chance.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The truth.” 

Effie scoffed, wiping at her eyes. “What did you say about me, Duffy?”

“Only what I knew. You get to do the rest. Don’t make any shit up now, they’ll know. Dutch is a good bit smarter than Colm.”

He marched her over to a large white tent, fancier than the others. Dutch van der Linde was waiting for her, gesturing to a chair in the center. The older man he had been arguing with was there as well, and the older woman who she’d seen changing bandages. Kieran took a place awkwardly in the corner, obviously feeling like he shouldn’t be there. Effie sat and took in the sight of Dutch van der Linde. He was dressed finely in all black, with accents of red and flashes of gold jewelry. Just like the devil she expected him to be.

 _You’re gonna be happy here. You just gotta talk._ Effie tried to push what Colm had told her away- the devil she knew now held her life in his bejeweled hands. 

“I expect you know who I am already.” His voice was low, scratchier than she had imagined. “There’s no need to be afraid. We’re just here to talk. We’re no madmen here,” he said amicably, gesturing to the men and woman around him. Kieran gave a start- he’d been curiously poking the large gramophone next to the camp bed. “There’s no need for either of us resort to petty violence, we’re just looking-“

He was interrupted by a hulking figure dragging another chair into the tent. A barefoot and open-shirted Arthur Morgan sat, dumping baked beans from a can into his mouth. There was a few day’s more stubble on his chin since Effie last saw him, the beginnings of what could be an impressive beard. The bruises on his face were beginning to turn a sickly green color- Effie realized that was probably what she looked like now, as well- but he was starting to regain some of his color. There was still a small sheen of sweat on his forehead though, and his shoulder was heavily bandaged in a sling, just like her own arm. The unused sleeve of his shirt flopped at his side. He opened his mouth to talk, glanced at the older woman, stopped, chewed, swallowed. “Sorry. Go on.”

Van der Linde closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Arthur blinked. “I’m… sitting?”

Van der Linde took a step closer to him. “Go back to bed, Arthur,” he sighed, reaching down to help him up.

Arthur waved him away, head going back as he dumped the rest of the beans into his mouth. It was a strange juxtaposition to see him like this- unimposing, relaxed. As he rubbed sauce from his lip, Effie was amazed how scared she had been of him back in that basement. “Ah fuughurrd-“ he stopped again, swallowed. “Sorry, Miss Grimshaw. Figured I should get a listen in uh…” he waved his hand about. “Whatever we’re talking about here.” 

Van der Linde wiped a hand down his face, exasperated, and glanced toward the older man, who shrugged fondly. “You expected him to stay in bed all day?”

There seemed to be genuine worry on his face- like a father? Like a brother?- but van der Linde sighed in resignation. He slid another camp chair to face Effie and sat, elbows on his thighs, hands dangling. Chunky rings adored his fingers. “Alright, Miss Elwood. What do you know about us?”

“You’re Dutch van der Linde. Y’all are in the van der Linde Gang.”

Van der Linde cocked his head, dark eyes sparkling. “Now come on, miss, you flatter us. What else is there? What has my”- he grinned- “associate Colm told you about us?”

Effie swallowed and glanced toward Kieran, who made an apologetic face. She didn’t understand why he was being so polite, never mind why they were still keeping her. She didn’t understand how relaxed everyone in this tent was compared to her as she clutched the edge of the camp chair. Kieran had told her no not worry, that this was her chance- but it seemed too nice. Too clean. It didn’t match what she’d seen. “Yall are thieves and murderers, traitors. You killed Colm’s brother,” she said slowly, still staring at Kieran. The bodies riddled with holes, blood leaking slowly as arteries stopped pumping. “Yall take pleasure in stealing our takes, killing us.” 

"Us?” A sly smile crept over van der Linde’s face. Effie looked down and bit her tongue, not meeting his eyes. “Why don’t you tell us about yourself, Miss Elwood, just so we can get the story straight. No misunderstandings.”

She glanced back at Kieran, who nodded. Stomach churning, she mumbled, “Name is Effie Elwood. Was running with the O’Driscolls.” Kieran met her eyes, silently urging her to go on. She felt her face reddening. “Killed one of Colm’s men, they weren’t pleased. Had me tied up when they brought in Morgan. We escaped.”

Van der Linde leaned back, stroking his small beard. She couldn’t read his expression, but she didn’t like the intelligence in his eyes. It was something that Colm lacked, that impassivity. “Who exactly did you kill, Miss Elwood? We do not doubt that you had good reasoning,” he added jovially. 

Her face felt hot, felt it turning a few shades darker. She closed her eyes, half expected that when she’d open them she would see Nate upon the ground, lifeless, looking at her with glassy eyes. Now van der Linde leaned forward, and Effie resisted the urge to move away. “Miss Elwood, we are simply trying to understand you better. We don’t mean you any harm unless your decisions warrant it. We save folks who need saving.” Effie snorted, still keeping her eyes shut tight. She heard him sigh. “Alright, Miss Elwood. What are you doing, fine young lady like you, running with the O’Driscoll boys?”

She opened her eyes, instead of seeing Nate seeing the other boys, sprawled on the ground, all eyes turned toward her, blood leading out the corners of their eyes or mouths or ears, dead before she could find them. “I was a doctor,” she whispered. 

Van der Linde’s eyebrows raised. “And what are your talents, as a doctor, young lady?”

“Mostly injuries,” she explained quietly. The dead eyes still stared at her from the ground. “Wounds. Not really professionally trained, but if one of the boys was bleeding I could fix them up pretty good. If they weren’t already dead.”

Van der Linde clapped once, the noise seemingly far too loud for the silent tent. “Well, there is progress, my friends. We have the O’Driscolls own Doctor Elwood in our presence. Now tell me, Miss Elwood, are you planning on rejoining your colleagues any time soon?”

He knew the answer to that. “They’ll kill me.”

“Why is that?”

Her eyes felt hot, tears pushing to be let out. Effie sniffed, urging them away. The truth. “I killed Nathaniel Grant.” 

Kieran choked, which he tried to disguise as a coughing fit, and Arthur Morgan gave a low whistle. Kieran knew the name- every O’Driscoll boy knew Nate Grant. An architect of crime. Devilishly charming. And Kieran had definitely knew the stories about how the huge mastermind had fallen for the tiny camp doctor. Van der Linde blinked, looking toward them for an explanation. Kieran composed himself and cleared his throat. “He’s uh- well he’s Colm’s Arthur.”

Van der Linde barked a laugh. “Colm’s Arthur! Would you hear that!” Pointing at Effie, he continued. “I didn’t even know they had one, and here is this little young thing taking him out for us! How-“ he clapped,” -could we ever repay this favor you have so kindly done for us?” 

Effie blinked, unsure of what to say. She’d trusted Colm and the rest of the boys that this man was the definition of a snake, preying on them and anyone he could find. However, he’d been polite, she’d been treated well enough- aside from Sadie, who Effie had continued to keep an eye out for- but what if it was all part of some trick? What did he want with her? 

“Look,” van der Linde sighed, “I have talked to Mr. Duffy and Mr. Morgan. Mr. Duffy has confirmed what you have now told us, spoke about your character. From what he told us, we like your character, and we could use someone with your talent. And Mr. Morgan,” he gestured, and she met Arthur’s eyes, sort of greenish-blue and steady, “has also vouched on your behalf in helping him escape your former camp. What we are offering here is an opportunity. You help us, we help you. You protect us, we protect you.”

Effie blinked. Her head was swimming. She wasn’t sure why Arthur would speak on her behalf. Sure, she helped him spot that nail file. But based on the way he acted, moved- the man was born into that world. There was no way he would ever be held by the O’Driscolls unless they killed him, and it was more of a happy coincidence for Effie that she happened to be in that same basement. She couldn’t forget his rough hand around her arm either, slinging her up onto that horse. She also couldn’t bear to think that they would let her in this openly. Sure, the O’Driscolls took everyone that could walk. But the van der Lindes- Effie had no idea how anyone interested in joining the outlaw gang would even approach them. “That is very kind, Mr. van der Linde.”

“That is, unless you betray us. Run back off to your little gang. Tell them where we are. Have a talk with the law. Steal from us. Wrong us.” His tone had grown lower and colder as he continued. “Then we will shoot your pretty head without blinking an eye.” 

Effie met his stare, the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. This was the chance that Kieran was talking about. She felt his eyes on her, and nodded. “Yes, Mr. van der Linde.”

“Do not disappoint your friends Kieran and Arthur, Miss Elwood. Miss Grimshaw, will you help young Miss Elwood get herself situated in this camp? And take another look at that arm, if you don’t mind. We can’t have a surgeon with only one hand.”

The stern-looking older woman- Miss Grimshaw- nodded, leaving the tent. Effie took this as a cue to follow and scurried after her, trying not to make eye contact with the men. She had started her explanation before even waiting for Effie to catch up. “-Is where you will be sleeping, I’ll have Tilly make up a blanket for you. Little thing like you will probably fit into some of the clothes Sadie used to wear before she switched-“ Miss Grimshaw turned suddenly, looking Effie up and down. She had been wearing the same hand-me-down trousers and shirt since Nate, about five days ago. Her trousers were caked in mud and dirt, and her white buttoned shirt was now more of a brown, sporting a large rust-colored stain where she had been clinging to Arthur. “Never mind, you seem to be of the trousers sort as well. You’ll have to be in skirts for the time being, those clothes will see their best use in the campfire.” She continued walking. “We’ll give you a nice wash in the lake as well, I’d rather you go into town but it might be a bit dangerous yet-“

Miss Grimshaw was interrupted by the sound of a man yelling nearby. He had dark hair and a thick beard, and was much stouter and thicker than Arthur, but carried his weight in almost a strong-man type of way. Next to him was another, also shorter than Arthur, but with blonde stringy hair and a horseshoe mustache. The older man from the tent stood in front of them, his arms crossed, looking nonplussed. 

“She’s going to kill us in our sleep!” The bearded man argued loudly, uncaring about the volume of his voice. The blonde man looked over at her, sneering, and Effie got the instinct that this man was one to avoid. She’d been around men like him plenty with the boys- the ones that stared a little too hard and a little too long, who’s hands lingered in places they shouldn’t, who would whisper with buddies behind her back and snicker when she’d turned around. Thankfully Nate was imposing enough that they’d stayed away, but she didn’t have a Nate anymore. That was her fault. 

“Miss Elwood is going to be a useful addition to this camp,” the older man said evenly. “Who she was before doesn’t matter now, as you should know, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Bell.”  
“Don’t you think it’s a little strange that she happened to bring Arthur back and is now staying with us?! I thought it was bad when we brought in one O’Driscoll, but now we have two?”

Her body stiffened in embarrassment and dread. She hadn’t even considered gaining the loyalty of all the other gang members. Based on the look on this man’s face, doing that would probably be an impossible task. She wondered how hard it would be for him to make her death look like an accident. 

“She will prove her loyalty. Miss Elwood will probably save your life, Mr. Williamson, especially if you keep up this silly argument.”

“Oh yeah? She’s apparently a doctor? You heard that from the other O’Driscoll, right? How do you know that it’s not just a plot to kill us when we’re weak? Redskin like her probably knows all the poisons in this area!”

 _“Mr. Williamson.”_ the older man’s voice was sharp.

“She probably doesn’t even know medicine, she’s just using it as an act to stay here and-“

Effie’s throat felt tight and her fists involuntarily clenched, pain shooting up her broken arm. Miss Grimshaw placed a hand on her good arm and began to lead her away while the two continued arguing. The blonde man, presumably Mr. Bell, stood back, not adding to the argument but looking content at the discord.

“Animals,” Miss Grimshaw muttered. “Don’t pay them any mind, just focus on making your place. They’ll forget about it soon enough, they haven’t the intelligence to dwell on it.”

Effie nodded, but was startled by a sudden gunshot, a sharp crack throughout the camp. She dropped instinctually to a crouch. A woman screamed, a child was crying- strange, she hadn’t seen anyone that young quite yet- and something else was making a pitiful, high pitched sound. Everyone seemed to have drawn guns, but they weren’t pointed at her. Van der Linde stormed out of his tent, a pistol in each hand, face contorted in fury. Arthur was right behind him, drawing a knife from his belt. “What the hell?!”

“Everyone calm down!” A voice from near the waterside yelled. The whining noise became louder as Mr. Bell stepped into view. In his arms, whining and kicking, was a dog, it’s fur darkened with blood. His appearance made the child’s crying louder, and people gasped as he walked past. He walked through the camp calmly with the dog, while expressions darkened dangerously as he passed. He dropped the dog in a heap at Effie’s feet. It whimpered and tried to stand up but failed, and Effie could now see the dark hole in its back thigh. Her stomach twisted. 

Van der Linde grabbed Mr. Bell by the collar, pointing one of the pistols directly into Mr. Bell’s face. “ _Micah_ ,” he said, his voice low, but barely holding in fury. “You’re going to have to tell me what in the lord’s hell you think you are _doing-_ “

“Just a little test,” he said, hands raised and smirking. There was a small splatter of blood on his cheek. He added loudly, and mockingly, “For our new doctor.”

The child’s crying escalated. Van der Linde tightened his grip of Mr. Bell- Micah’s- shirt, their noses almost touching. They stood like that for what felt like an hour, Van der Linde seething and Micah almost daring him to do something, but Van der Linde eventually pushed him away, holstering his pistol and rubbing a hand down his face. Micah stumbled a few steps backward. The dog’s high pitched whining pierced the air.

“Fix the damn dog,” Van der Linde snapped, and stormed off to the lakefront. 

Micah turned to sneer at her, still holding up his red hands. “Hear that, O’Driscoll? Get to work, girlie.”

Then, out of nowhere, Arthur’s fist flew straight at Micah’s face, connecting with his nose with a sickening crunch. Effie had forgotten he was even there. Micah stumbled again, one hand covering his nose, now pouring blood.

“ _Mr. Morgan!_ ” Miss Grimshaw exclaimed, but he made no inclination that he heard her. 

“Get out of here, Micah,” Arthur growled, low and deadly. “If I see you back at this camp, you are a dead man.”

Micah sneered, the ratty mustache stained red, clamping a hand on Arthur’s wounded shoulder and pulling him close, squeezing. “Now now, cowpoke-“ There were arms pulling them apart, Charles on Arthur and Mr. Williamson on Micah- Micah shook off Williamson, stepping backward, hands never down – Arthur strained against Charles, spots of blood blossoming on the bandages on his shoulder. 

“No need to make such a fuss, pretty boy. I’m just looking after you.” Another sickening smile. “Just wanna make sure Dutch’s favorite doesn’t get hurt again.” He wiped at his face with his sleeve, still grinning, and began walking backwards, toward his horse, but not before turning back toward where Effie was working. “Teach that mutt some new tricks for me, sweetheart!” 

Effie’s stomach turned, feeling molested by the blue eyes sparking from behind that disgusting, greasy hair, but he mounted his horse, pulling a handkerchief from his saddlebag and pressing it to his face as he trotted away. Arthur still faced his direction, glaring, pace pale. If he was in pain, he didn’t show it, still radiating fury. Charles tried to put a hand on his shoulder, lead him back to his tent, but he shrugged it off roughly and spat in Micah’s direction. 

“Excuse me,” Miss Grimshaw said, pushing past Effie, and she strode up to Arthur and slapped him across the face. He blinked in confusion, seemingly snapping out of whatever rage he was in. “You imbecile, we’re going to have to fix you up again, can’t you just sit for five minutes-“ She started leading him away, and Arthur sheepishly obliged. “Charles, please assist Miss Elwood in saving that poor dog.”

She left Charles and Effie to stare at each other, the camp dead silent except for a child's cries and a dog's whines.


	4. transfer my tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to catch up with Effie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: implied domestic violence, some leftover animal cruelty but its all okay

They were able to get a handle on the situation after a couple of hours; Charles following Effie’s orders, fetching supplies and herbs that Effie was (mostly) sure weren’t harmful to the dog, doing exactly has she instructed him. His stitching was surprisingly delicate, and his hands steady. Finally, the poor thing fell asleep, exhausted from the quasi-surgery and blood loss, one leg lighter but alive. Effie had only ever had to do an amputation a few times, but never through a proxy. Thankfully Charles was patient and obedient, and probably knew a thing or two about first aid himself. Effie just hoped there was nothing about canine anatomy that she’d overlooked that would cause any problems. 

Charles wiped his hands on a clean rag. “His name is Cain.”

“What?”

“The dog.” Lanternlight flickered across his face. By now everyone was settling in for the evening, noticeably quieter than usual. Charles always seemed so calm, collected. He didn’t bat an eye when Effie told him to get a long, sharp blade for the dog’s leg, didn’t flinch when the dog struggled as he tied off the artery, carefully processing her instruction. For the few days she’d known him, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy living in a camp, especially with this cast of characters. 

“Excuse me, Miss Elwood?” Abigail’s approached cautiously, looking past her to see if they were still working on the dog. A small child appeared from behind her skirts, tiny eyes sparkling. “Jack- my son- wants to check in on your patient.”

“Uh, sure,” Effie said, scanning the area to make sure there was no sign of the violence that had occurred only a few hours prior. Charles did as well, snatching up the remaining bloodied rags and supplies. “Just be very gentle.”

A small boy then emerged from behind his mother. It had been so long since Effie had seen a child, she realized. So tiny. So little. How did people make clothes that tiny? He walked up to the dog, plopping himself down. If he was bothered by the little bit of blood that was showing through the bandages, he didn’t show it. “Can I pet him?”  
Effie’s heart almost broke at how adorable his voice was. “Um, sure. Just don’t pat near where he’s hurt.”

His tiny hand brushed over the fur of the dog’s neck. The dog opening its eyes and saw him, giving a quiet whine and putting his head in the child’s lap. Jack giggled and began stroking his ears. 

“Friend of yours?” Effie asked. She wasn’t really sure how to talk to a child. The last ones she’d seen at were at the reservations, but back then their mothers didn’t allow the children to engage with her or her father. 

Jack nodded. “His name is Cain. He likes corned beef.”

“Okay.”

“Can I give him some?”

“Um-“ Effie glanced toward Abigail, who was indeed holding a can of corned beef. She smiled apologetically. “Sure? Just not too much right now, we don’t want him to get a bellyache.”

Effie watched as Jack’s tiny hands scooped out little coin-sized bits of corned beef and held them out to Cain. The dog sniffed and licked the meat off the little boy’s hands enthusiastically. Jack giggled. “When will I be able to play with him again?”

“Well, if you do a really good job of keeping an eye on him, and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble, he should be running around in no time.”

“But his leg’s gone! He can still run like that?”

Effie gave him a small smile. “Of course. He has to keep up with his best friend.” Jack beamed at her. 

“Alright Jack, let’s go eat your own dinner now,” Abigail said gently. It was strange to see her like this, in mother mode. She remembered Abigail’s face being the first she’d seen at this camp- she’d been so serious, so alert then, almost like being the first responder to two gravely injured people in the middle of the night was something that occurred naturally. However, the more that she thought about it, it made sense, the initiative to take care of others. That was what mothers did, she guessed. “Do you need anything?” She asked, concern on her face. 

“What? Oh. No, not right now.” Although she’d barely eaten anything all day, she couldn’t find an appetite, and the thought of meat at the moment disinterested her. “Thank you, Miss Abigail.”

Abigail nodded, shepherding her son. “Say thank you, Jack.”

Jack waved. “Thank you, Miss Doctor!” 

Effie sat with Cain for a while longer. Charles had gotten up to put away surplus supplies, and she petted Cain’s head softly. He was curled into a ball around the stump of his leg, eyes closed, but breathing normally. He seemed to be okay, they’d just have to make sure he didn’t go licking at the wound or running around too much. 

She was tired. She was so tired her heart hurt thinking about it. She was still covered in mud and dirt and blood, and the more she thought about it, the more it felt like it was weighing her down. Absentmindedly, she stood up, walking toward the lake, pausing to kick off her boots. She walked in, silt rising in little clouds as her feet hit the bottom, continuing until her toes could barely touch the bottom. The water was cold, but not as cold as she’d expected- they must be farther south than she’d expected. She curled herself into a little ball, head sinking below the surface. She drifted to the bottom of the lake, her bottom hitting it gently. Sitting there, with no noise and her eyes closed, feeling nothing but her hair swishing around her face, it was an empty feeling. She thought she would be feeling something, but all that was inside her was numb. She held her breath until her chest hurt, then unfurled and kicked up to the surface. 

Miss Grimshaw was waiting at the shore with a bundle of dry clothes in her arm. “Good,” she said, seeing Effie at her cleanest she’d been since arriving at the camp. “Change into these, and we’ll rewrap your arm, you’ve gotten the bandages all wet.” Indeed, her little swim had soaked into the wood and linen around her broken arm, loosening the binding. After glancing around the shore to make sure none of the men were peeking about, she stripped her wet clothes with Grimshaw’s help, changing into clean undergarments, a long skirt, and a camisole. Miss Grimshaw had also brought a flannel shirt, probably one of the men’s judging on the size, but lead Effie back to camp to sit so she could assess her broken arm. 

Effie’s hair soaked into the thin cotton camisole, and she shivered. It was past dark now, the stars visible between passing clouds. Miss Grimshaw tenderly unwrapped Effie’s arm, and examined it, prodding softly, using little pressure. The swelling had gone down significantly now, and now blue-brown bruising mottled her skin, though harder to see over her darker skin than if she was pale like her father. 

“Charles did a good job,” Miss Grimshaw said, wrapping it with wood and linen again. Her bindings were a little bit tighter than Charles’ and gave an uncomfortable pressure for a moment before it subsided. “He was right, it seems like a clean break. How did it happen?”

“Horse got shot, I fell.”

“Did it fall on you?”

“No, I just got up and kept running.”

Effie watched her layer the long strips over one another. “Have you broken it before?”

“No. First break.”

“Hmm.” She began securing the bindings. “Its strange that someone as young and healthy as you would break their arm so easily.” Effie felt Miss Grimshaw studying her face. She kept her eyes down. She’d been looked at like that before.

“Must’ve hit a rock or something,” Effie mumbled. Again, she felt like she should be feeling something, but there was just emptiness. 

“Hmm. Well, now that you’re clean and fixed, you need to get some rest, get that arm healing.” She helped Effie into the flannel, pulling her good arm through a sleeve and buttoning it over her sling. “You’ll be over here, by Tilly. She hogs the blankets, so give her a good kick if you need to get warm.”

Effie settled down onto the bedroll. Tilly, the black girl, didn’t stir as Effie pulled some of the blankets over herself. 

She was asleep within a heartbeat, and she dreamed. 

Wet logs crackled in the fire, emitting steam as they warmed. Effie buried her face in the shawl wrapped tightly around her neck, curling tighter around her blankets. The abandoned house they were in was a little too dilapidated to fully protect them from the weather, and icy wind snuck through the cracks in the walls. The cracks and pops grew louder, starting to echo in the small house. Effie tried to cover her ears with gloved hands, but the sound continued to clatter in her mind. 

“Effie!” 

She was pushed violently off the small wooden cot, hitting the floor hard. Looking up, she saw the fire was out, only a few glowing embers now. Yet the cracks and pops continued, now joined by banging on the door. She hadn’t any idea who it was- Nate would still be out hunting with a few of the boys, he wouldn’t be back until later. Effie let the blankets drop to the floor in a heap. She unsheathed the knife from her belt, holding it blade out. 

“Who is there?” she called.

“Effie, you open this goddamn door “ it was Nate’s voice, that voice he made only so often when she’d fucked up, but she didn’t know what she did-   
She opened the door quickly, but instead of Nate, there was a sea of O’Driscoll boys. Mattias. Evans. Everett. Henry. Jacob. So many of them, bleeding or bruised, some with dark slits slashed into them, some with small holes in their foreheads that blossomed into bloody fissures behind, oozing scarlet onto the slow. 

“You left us,” they said. Evan jaw hung awkwardly as he spoke, half of it blown off by a shotgun. “Who is going to take care of us?”

Effie took a step back into the house, hands shaking. 

“Who is going to stitch us?”

“Who will stop us from bleeding?”

“Who will fill the holes shot through us?”

“Who will close our eyes when we’re dead?”

“ _Who is going to bury us, Effie?_ ”

Effie shut the door and locked it, pressing her back to it. For a minute there were hands again, pounding at the door, begging to be let in, calling her name. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it out, and it stopped. Catching her breath, she opened her eyes, and saw Nate’s outline sitting upon a chair in front of the barely smoldering hearth. 

“Effie,” he said fondly, turning. A smile, blindingly white, seemed to brighten up the entire room. “Darlin’, come over here and warm me up, will ya?” She bent over him, kissing him deeply. He made a noise like a purr, his hands on her back. She sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his neck. “It’s so damned cold in these damn mountains.” And then, his tone changed. The voice. “Of course it wouldn’t be so fucking cold in here if you kept the fire going.” She stiffened. “You let the fire go out, Effie.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, burying herself further, trying to hide in him. “The boys needed me.”

“They’re important than me now, huh? You been runnin’ around?” 

She kissed him again, trying to put all her feelings, her apologies, into it. “Never.” 

He kissed back, hands moving from her back to her arms. Then his grip tightened, too hard. “You let the fire go out, Effie.” She kissed him again, trying to send all her love through her lips, so he knew she didn’t mean to, it was an accident-

He turned her so she was facing the hearth, which was now roaring with flame, and pushed her in.

Effie coughed smoke. She was now sitting at a campfire, tents and tipis all around. 

“Get away from the fire, Effie,” he father said. He was standing over her, looking down with those hard grey eyes, hand outstretched. She took it, her hand tiny now, and he began to lead her out of the reservation. People watched them leave, people that looked like her. A mother stopped in front of them, holding a sickly child. It breathed weakly in her arms, eyes sunken, blood at the corner of its mouth. 

“Doctor Engel, please,” she sobbed. “ _Please._ ”

Her father continued walking, pulling her along, not looking back. “Come back when you have payment.” The woman cried out as they walked away, falling to her knees.  
Someone shoved her from behind, and she fell to her knees. Her hands were bound behind her back, and she stared down at the familiar dirt floor of the basement. 

A finger tilted her head up. She smelled Colm’s dank beer-soaked breath. “ _You better hide, you little slut,_ ” he said, and he shoved her head back against the pole.  
Her head his something solid. Reaching up, she felt a post. The sound of crickets filled the air, and her feet were cold. Sitting up, she saw them poking out from the scrap of blanket that still covered her. Tilly breathed quietly next to her, quilts gathered up to her chin. 

There was a strange pressure in her chest, like her heart was trying to get out, a dull ache that she couldn’t quite place. She breathed shallow and quick, like she had just run a mile. Looking around, she felt herself moving just slightly too quickly, too jittery, eyes darting across the dark camp. Something wasn’t right, not with the camp, but with her.

_I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here._

She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them, hoping that if she made herself smaller the pressure would go away, but it persisted. Her whole body felt strangely tingly, as if someone was running a fingertip down her spine. 

And then something inside her snapped, and she had to get away, get away _right now_ \- she was running barefoot through the trees, away from the camp, her breath getting caught in her throat, chest feeling like it was crumpling in on itself-

“Hey! Hey!” A hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled. A blind panic took her over at the sensation of touch. Effie swung her good fist and the figure stumbled back, clutching its jaw, and she was moving again, trying to get away, she wasn’t supposed to be here, she wasn’t supposed to be here- but then two strong arms wrapped around her- pain in her arm- and her feet left the ground, kicking, struggling. She didn’t realize how much she hated having arms around her until then, keeping her in place, keeping her from escaping. She tried to cry out, but her voice was caught in her throat, and the figure pushed her firmly against a tree, holding her there by her shoulders. It was such a familiar position that she’d expected to see Nate there now, but instead saw red hair shining in the dim moonlight. Lines of worry crossed his freckled face. “Calm down, calm down.”

Effie was then suddenly very aware of her panicked breathing, the tear streaks that were down her face, her frenzied struggling. The pressure in her chest was still there- it wouldn’t go away, she could give anything for it to go away. The one Charles had called Sean examined her face, blue eyes darting. “Ah- er, do you need to sit down? Yae, let’s do that, come on.” 

He guided her down to the forest floor. Dazed, Effie sat, the long shirt bunching around her legs. She didn’t realize she was shaking. Sean still stared at her, concerned. “Ah, Miss Elwood, yeah?” He looked awkward, he was presented with a hysterical woman and had no idea what to do. “Do yae need anythin’?”

At that moment, that numbness that had filled her earlier was gone as the pressure cracked open, and she felt it all. Embarrassment. Guilt. Shame. Too many thoughts were racing through her head, overlapping. Faces blurred into each other- Nate’s eyes staring at her in disbelief, her father’s disappointed frown, Mattias’s dead stare from the ground after Arthur plunged that file into his neck, Arthur’s icy blue eyes surrounded by crusted blood and dark bruises. The woman from the reservation. Colm’s sneer. Dutch van der Linde, shifting from terrifying to kind and back again. The splatter of blood on Micah’s face as he dropped that dog at her feet. She didn’t know what to do. She was alone. It was her fault. She’d ruined it. Everything. She’d fucked it all up, like she always did. She deserved every punishment that was going to happen to her. Why didn’t she help? She’d learned to help over her whole life, why was she so bad at it still- everything was gone, Nate, her boys, her brothers in arms- she’d abandoned them really- they were going to get shot and now no one was there- no one would care- there wasn’t anyone left that cared- it was her fault-she shouldn’t be here, she shouldn’t be here, _she couldn’t be here_ -

A gentle hand patted her back gently, rubbing it in small circles. She hadn’t realized she was in Sean’s arms, had been fore some time. Her face was buried in his jacket, snot and tears and drool dampening her face and his chest. She was shaking with each shuddering breath she was letting out, a noiseless sob, but now the pressure was gone, and she thought she’d be okay- now it was just a sinking hopelessness- oh god, she was alone-

Sean had begun to sing, softly, his voice rumbling in his chest. She couldn’t make out the words, but she didn’t care- just the sound, the faint vibrations on her cheek were somehow grounding her. He didn’t sing well, but there was warmth in it, she was grateful; the sinking hopelessness began to wane, and he continued to hold her tightly. Her heart finally began to slow, her tears dried, and she took long, controlled, shuddering breaths. 

“ _-as drunk as drunk could be, I saw a head upon the bed where my old head should be,_ ” he half sang, half mumbled. His Irish accent seemed to be stronger when he was singing. “ _Well, I called my wife and I said to her will you kindly tell me who owns that head upon the bed where my old head should be? Ae, yer drunk, yer drunk yeh silly old fool- still you cannot see, that’s a baby boy me mother sent to me…_ “ His index finger tapped a beat on her shoulder blade. “ _Well, it’s a many a day I’ve traveled, a hundred miles or more, but a baby boy with his whiskers on, I never saw before-_ “

Effie sniffled and interrupted. Her voice was hoarse. “Is that a song about a drunk man with a cheating wife?”

He stopped. “I couldn’t think of anything else,” he said awkwardly. 

Effie pushed herself out of his arms, looking around with puffy eyes. The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon. She wiped her face, feeling trails of salt. “Sorry,” she said, covering her face. There was still some hopelessness there, but it was much lighter, and she felt exhausted from everything she’d just let out. “Sorry, please don’t… just please…“  
He gave her an embarrassed smile. “I won’t tell anyone as long as you don’t say that I’m out comfortin’ cryin’ women with songs about whorin’. Right spot to my reputation with the ladies, that is.”

“Sorry about your shirt.”

Sean looked down at the large wet spot where her face had been. “It’s been covered in worse.”

Effie pushed herself up, brushing dirt and bits of plant matter from her skirt. She wanted to get away from this man who she’d only met twice- once as he was sitting on her legs as someone set her broken arm and just now when she spent the night crying in his arms. Embarrassment made her cheeks feel hot. 

“Yae may wanna go down by the lake for a bit,” he added. “Just, uh.” he waved his hand over his face. Effie looked at him quizzically. “Not that yer face is ugly, I mean I would never- just some people will be up is all…”

Effie understood- to have everyone in camp know that the girl they’d just taken in had spent her first night crying like a child was less than ideal. Plus, it would be nice to be alone for a while.


	5. got a curse I cannot lift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hosea takes Effie fishing. Also, there's a bear.

The next few days were a blur of getting familiarized with the camp, helping Miss Grimshaw and Pearson, the cook; chopping vegetable, helping with laundry, just little things that she could manage with only one hand. She began to learn everyone’s names- Hosea, Karen, Mary-Beth, Molly. The other women treated her just fine, at first being slightly too gentle, slightly too polite, but as she settled in that began to wear off. A couple of the men avoided her- Micah was gone after the altercation with Arthur, and she often caught Bill staring daggers at her from across camp. Javier kept his distance as well, more out of shyness than malice, it seemed, but she couldn’t tell. Sadie made a point not to speak to her either, and Effie understood after hearing her story from Tilly. Effie couldn’t help but feel conflicted about it- those were her boys, there had to be some reason to what they were doing, but she was no stranger of the kinds of shit the boys would pull. Being around Sadie gave her a sickening sort of guilt for turning a blind eye for so long. She should have spoken up or something, made sure there were consequences to their actions, but then at the same time it was only because of Nate that they weren’t doing the same to her, and that she should consider herself lucky. It was a weird kind of back-and-forth in her mind, shame and excuses, so Effie avoided Sadie the best she could as well. 

Most of the men were kind to her, though. Sean would crack jokes every time he saw her, trying to cheer her up even when she wasn’t sad, but never mentioning the other night. No one said anything either, so it seemed he kept his word of not sharing how she’d cried all night against him. Lenny was over helpful, trying to assist her with the smallest of tasks, apologizing for anything and everything. Uncle kept following her around, claiming to help her with chores, but instead telling grand stories of crimes he’d committed, while other rolled their eyes behind him. Two of them that she barely saw were Arthur and Charles. Arthur because Miss Grimshaw would pretty much start beating him with a pan if he ever got out of bed, although she sometimes saw him sitting down by the water, hunched over a notebook in his lap. As for Charles- well, Effie could tell people weren’t his thing and she understood. She did miss his presence though, finding it calming after the whole ordeal with Cain, enjoying how he was comfortable with silence rather than making awkward small talk. Cain was doing well, healing quickly thanks to all the coddling from Jack. Charles had the idea to soak an outer layer of bandages with vinegar over the stump, preventing Cain from licking at it. He was getting the hang of walking around with only three legs, doing a sort of hop to compensate, and Jack was eager to get the dog running and chasing again. 

All the same, Effie couldn’t help but feel isolated; the dreams and feelings of the other night with Sean still loomed over her like a storm cloud, not quite going away. Sure, she was surrounded by people, but they were strangers. There was nothing she shared with any of them, or at least knew she shared- they weren’t quick to open up to her, and she wasn’t about to spill all her secrets. And yes, she missed the camaraderie she’d developed with the boys, making jokes, singing raucous campfire songs, playing pranks, but that relationship had taken years to develop, and she’d had an in with Nate. Plus, there was that nagging feeling in the back of her mind that in a few days, she wouldn’t be there- dead, or gone off somewhere- and that everything she was experiencing was only temporary. Why put in the effort if it wasn’t going to matter? 

And so more days passed. She was floating, barely leaving a footprint. She did the chores she was asked, went to bed early and got up early, took care of the dog, watched him develop his quirky hop-walk as Jack laughed and chased him. The dull pain in her arm was beginning to subside, and now it was just a waiting game for it to heal properly, an awkward waiting period where her strength was returning. Still, Miss Grimshaw still wouldn’t allow her to lift anything that she couldn’t simply pick up with one hand. Mary-Beth had given her a stack of books she’d already finished, so when she had finished all her tasks she would read down by the lake. Sometimes Arthur would be down there as well, sketching, but she didn’t feel a need to make an effort to speak to him- what did she have to say? Yes, they’d been through a few days of hell together, but that was done, and they were healing to get on with their lives. 

One morning, she was out there, reading, munching on an oatcake. No one was awake yet, and the lake was quiet and still. The book was The Island of Doctor Moreau, one that had been published but a few years prior; it was hard to get a lot of books out in this part of the country, so Mary-Beth had considered it quite a find. Effie found it a much more interesting read than Mary-Beth’s collection of Jane Austen novels, or Little Women. Party because she didn’t exactly understand the intricacies of polite society, never having been part of it herself, and partly because the tales of monsters and torture and horror in Doctor Moreau were exciting enough that she didn’t space out while reading and half to go back a few pages to what she last remembered. 

She didn’t hear Hosea approach her in the middle of a passage where a mountain lion-woman hybrid monster attacked the titular Doctor Moreau. He cleared his throat to warn her he was there, but she jumped anyway.

“Get ready to go fishing.”

She turned, her thumb keeping her place in the book. Hosea stood above her, his face hard to make out with the morning sun behind him. He held a fishing pole. 

She blinked. “My arm hasn’t healed yet, Mr. Matthews. Not sure I would be of much help.”

“Nonsense.” His voice was chipper for how early it was. He held out an arm to help her up, which she took begrudgingly- she was nearing the climax of the book, and honestly, she’d never gone fishing before. It wasn’t a skill that her father had bothered to teach her. 

He helped her into the boat. She stumbled a bit due to the lack of her other arm for balance and because she wasn’t used to the long skirt. It rocked a bit in the shallows, and Hosea pushed it into the water and began paddling. Effie watched the ripples in the mirror-smooth surface, sending up golden flickers of light, and the camp slowly shrank in her sight. 

Hosea didn’t seem to pay her any mind at all- he cast out and waited, occasionally humming a little tune. At first Effie was stiff, waiting for him to talk to her- she didn’t know what about, or why he brought her in this boat with him, but it gave her social anxiety nonetheless- but as minutes passed, she felt herself relaxing, listening to the birdcalls echo across the water, the occasional dragonfly zipping past her nose. She leaned her good arm into the water, letting her fingertips dangle, watching the water swirl around them. The water was clear for a good few feet, just silt reflecting the light, occasionally the small fish going past, sometimes a larger shadow deeper down.

“I’ve never gone fishing before,” she found herself saying quietly. She didn’t know why she spoke. She was perfectly fine with the silence, the calm stillness, but somehow the words made their way past her lips, and there was no taking them back. 

“Well, we are going to have to take you for real once you have two working arms,” Hosea said. She always saw him around with van der Linde- Dutch, as the others called him, but it still felt strange to her, she still imagined his cold eyes as Cain lay bleeding at her feet- so naturally she had been intimidated by him for a while, although that was passing quickly now. His voice was kind, giving away his age a little more than his silver-touched hair. His grip on the fishing rod was gentle and he reeled in the line slowly, minutely, letting it drag ever so slightly in the water. Another couple of minutes passed before he spoke again, but it wasn’t an awkward silence, more natural, leisurely. He didn’t look toward her, still concentrating on the line. “What would you like to do once your arm is healed?” 

What did she want to do? The feeling that everything was just temporary, that her future was just a cloudy wall in front of her hit again, and her mind was blank. “I’m not sure,” she finally admitted quietly, and then there was more embarrassment again, of her feeling out of place, useless, unwanted, undeserving. 

“Well,” Hosea mused. “You’ll be helping everyone out in emergencies, as you’re the closest we’ve got to a doctor now, but what are your hidden talents, Miss Elwood?” He reeled in the line fully, recasting. “You’ve run with a rough crowd for a while, so you should fit in just well here.” 

She thought back, finding herself almost reluctant to consider the jobs she’d helped with over the years. Hunting sometimes, though with so many boys finding themselves bored at camp someone else was usually up to the task. She didn’t really do anything, she felt, just helped out a bit as backup from a distance- she had good eyes and her hands were steady, making her handy with a scope as the situation needed, but she was never jumping into the action, or doing anything important. Sometimes she made a good distraction, but she was usually out when the violence started. She wasn’t like Arthur or the other men here; the O’Driscolls had numbers, and the young strong ones were the ones that robbed the banks, or stormed the trains, or stole the horses- she was more of an accessory, there to help when the situation called. But she wasn’t talented at any of that sort, so to speak, or at least she couldn’t imagine herself as being so. 

“Kieran says you’re a good shot,” Hosea said, interrupting her thoughts. “Play a convincing damsel in distress, too.”

Of course he did. She couldn’t figure out why he was sticking her neck out for her so much- because she, like him, used to be an O’Driscoll? Did he pity her, knowing that of all people, she was the one that killed Nate? Or was she really that pathetic, a kicked, starving street dog, that he couldn’t help but find a home for? “I guess so,” she said sheepishly. “But I’m probably not as good as some of the people you already have.”

Hosea shrugged. “Nothing a little practice won’t fix, and we can always use more arms. Once you’ve got two, anyway. I’m going to have you start on night watch with Arthur on the western front tonight, he’s starting to get jumpy and you’ve got two working hands between the two of you, and I’m sure if anything comes up you’ll be able to alert the rest of us. I’ve arranged for Charles and Sadie to take you into town tomorrow. Sean might join later. You can pick up some new clothes, some new things, I’ll give Charles some money. You can get some new medical supplies too while you’re out, seeing as you’re the resident medical professional now. As for weapons, I’m sure Arthur or John has sometime old lying around that you can use.”

He spoke so certainly that the fog of the next few days, weeks, parted a little. Sure, she wasn’t able to see a future for herself, but her gut twisted uncomfortably when she realized that he could. He saw her going to town, helping keep the gang safe, settling in- it was something that someone hadn’t done for her for a long time. It was a warm sort of feeling, sort of settled that seed of anxiety that was ever-present in her chest since that night.

“Alright,” she said slowly. “Thank you, Mr. Matthews.” 

He made a sort of hum in reply. He fished for a while longer, occasionally recasting, and Effie found her settling into the boat, significantly more relaxed than before, the tight tension that had been bunching in her shoulders over the weeks beginning to fade. There was no sound except for the gentle lapping of water against the boat, the gentle whirr as Hosea gradually reeled in the line, the occasional waterfowl flapping overhead. The sun rose higher in the sky, and eventually he reeled in the line and set down the pole on the floor of the boat. 

“No bites today,” he said, picking up the oar and steering them toward shore. “Shame. We’ll just have to bring you out another time, show you what fishing is really like.”

Effie nodded. As the made their way back to camp, she looked down and saw that he had never put bait on the hook. If he saw that she noticed, he didn’t say anything, just kept humming as he paddled.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

Effie woke from her nap with a gun being prodded in her face. The smooth wood was cool against her cheek. It was the evening now, the main campfire sending shadows flickering throughout the camp. There was dull chatter where some sat around the table, slurping at stew. Arthur Morgan crouched above her, holding the gun handle out to her. “Time for watch.”

She rubbed sleep out of her eyes and took the gun from him gently. He handed her a belt and holster as well, which she fastened around her waist. It felt strange to have it over a skirt and not pants, like it was about to slip off, but a bit of adjusting the buckle did the trick. 

He led her to the edge of camp and then through the surrounding woods, offering his arm for support over larger logs and branches. Her skirt kept getting caught on brambles and twigs, and eventually she just gathered it at the side so it wouldn’t drag. When she did this Arthur followed behind her, presumably to catch her if she tripped. 

“Not the dress type?” Arthur asked. They eventually reached a small spot overlooking the neighboring fields, still hidden by the woods. There was a small camp chair left there, and a small pile of cigarette buts near it. He gestured for her to sit and leaned against a tree himself, striking a match on his boot and lighting a cigarette. 

Effie smoothed her skirt over her legs. The bottom was dusty from the past couple days. She wasn’t sure how the other women managed to keep their hems clean. “Not really.”  
He puffed on the cigarette, eyes darting across the fields. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a beer bottle, tossing it to her. “Sadie might have some extra trousers or somethin’.”

“I don’t think she’s all that fond of me,” Effie said, opening the bottle on the edge of the camp chair. It had been a while since she’d had beer, and the taste was sour. She scrunched up her nose as she swallowed, trying not to think of Colm, leaning down over her in that basement. “On account of being an O’Driscoll and all.”

“Suppose you’re right.” He blew out smoke. “I would say she doesn’t bite, but that woman’s about as gentle as a bear trap.” Night insects chirped and whirred around them. Effie was thankful for the flannel shirt Miss Grimshaw had given her; the mosquitoes were buzzing, but their tiny mouths couldn’t break through the thick fabric. “She’s a good one, though.” Effie didn’t say anything, unsure how to respond, and it seemed that Arthur felt awkward, as he kept talking. “Was one time Micah sat too close to her around the campfire. Sadie swore that his pants startin’ fire was an accident. Not that anyone was disappointed.”

“What is his story?”

Arthur grunted, spat. “Never felt to ask. Don’t wanna give that snake the possibility of gettin’ any sympathy.” He looked at her. “His fault I ended up in that basement.”

“Oh.” Effie was curious then- how did that happen, actually? How did the O’Driscolls manage to catch Arthur Morgan? -but she didn’t ask, not wanting to pry. In a way, she felt kind of responsible for what the boys did to him too, even though she was also being used as a punching bag at the same time. “Why did you talk good on my part to Mr. van der Linde?” she asked. “I didn’t really help you get out of there. You saved my skin. I didn’t really do anything.”

He inhaled, the tip of the cigarette flaring, and breathed smoke out of his nose. “Dunno,” he said, shrugging. “Kieran was an O’Driscoll, I gave him plenty of grief for that. Good kid though. Seems like I’m in the mood for second chances lately. ‘Sides, might not have a brain but Dutch will usually gimme his ear.” 

Effie sipped. “How long you been with this gang?”

He gave a brief laugh, nothing more than a puff of air through his nose, scratched his cheek. It had a good beard started on it now. “Twenty years? Dunno. Been with Dutch longer than most of them.”

Twenty years? Effie had been living nomadically with her father up until he left her and presumably died five years ago, and a little while after that she’d started running with the O’Driscolls. Twenty years covered more than that time with her father, and Arthur had known van der Linde for that long? She glanced at him, trying to discern an age. There were smile wrinkles around his eyes as he watched the horizon, and definitely years of hard living had made their mark, but he moved like a much younger man. Maybe thirties? She couldn’t quite tell, but she knew he had years of experience on her.

They were silent about an hour or two, listening to the insects and keeping an eye out for any light or movement. It wasn’t exactly the easy, relaxing type of silence like on the fishing boat, but she didn’t feel pressured to talk, and neither did he, so the time passed peacefully. Eventually she saw him stretching uncomfortably against the tree, so she offered up the camp chair a few times until he accepted. 

“So, Nathaniel Grant,” he said, breaking the silence. “Run into him a couple of times. Bit of a monster, that one. Done us quite a favor.” Effie bit her tongue and picked at the bark of the tree. Yes, she wanted to say. No. He was her savior, her best friend, her person. “Why’d you do it?”

Her heart dropped into her stomach and she froze- it was the first time anyone had asked her why, why, why- they’d been sweet on each other for so long, and he never set eyes on another girl after he saw her, he was saving up money for a ring, not a stolen one, but one he earned himself-

“Sorry,” Arthur said quickly, apologetically. “Never mind. Not my business.” He stood up, his good hand gesturing uselessly. “Would you like to sit?”

“You just sat down,” Effie replied, the ringing in her ears fading. His dismissal of the question helped release the tension, but it still echoed in her mind. “And shotgun wound trumps broken arm, I think.” 

He sat again, slowly and awkwardly, and Effie could see that his urge for chivalry was fighting between letting the lady sit and to do as he was told. It was somewhat endearing. They settled into silence again, not so gracefully this time, until Arthur suddenly sat up straight, his good hand hovering over his belt. Effie straightened too, but her eyes didn’t see any movement in the darkness. Arthur slowly rose to his feet.

“There’s something there,” he whispered, voice low and scratchy. He tapped his ear. Effie strained to listen, and got nothing, until she picked up a low snuffling, the tiny crunch of a leaf. He held up a hand for her to stay still. They stayed like that a few more minutes, listening intently, and then he crept closer to her, his footsteps completely silent on the ground. 

“Stay still and quiet,” he breathed. “Can’t get a good look at it, but its pretty big. Might be a bear, don’t want it to notice us quite yet.” A bear. She’d had a couple close encounters; once a momma and her cubs had trapped her and Nate inside as they sniffed around their cabin in back in the Grizzlies, and she’d had to sew up a couple boys who accidentally jumped one. She held her breath. “I can get back to camp pretty quick and quietly. Come back with Charles. Maybe a shotgun, pistols won’t do a thing.” Effie was startled that he would drop his chivalrous act so suddenly, but then realized it was a strategic choice for him to go back; her long skirt would have her tripping the entire way and startling the bear would make it more likely to attack. His fingers gently lifted the pistol from her belt instead pressed his revolver into her hand.

“You know how to use this?”

“Yes.” Her heart was beating quickly. The weight of the gun was familiar, steady. 

“If it gets too close, start shooting.” He breathed in nervously. “Six shots should be, uh… I’ll be quick.” 

Effie nodded, and he disappeared into the night, barely making a noise. She turned back to the direction of the bear, cocking the gun and flinching at the click. Her bad arm was clutched close to her chest, and she felt her heartbeat through her camisole. Arthur seemed to be taking forever. A twig snapped, over where the bear was supposed to be, but closer. Effie pressed her back against the tree. If it went at her, she had just her shooting reflexes to protect her. Those claws would go straight through her clothes, her skin. She’d seen those types of wounds before. If she was able to get away, she’d live, albeit with some savage scarring. If not, well, she’d be in pieces. A couple seconds- minutes? - later, she heard the snuffling again, and another twig, even closer, maybe about ten feet away now. She held the gun in front of her. Arthur wasn’t back. Maybe he was saving his own skin, or letting the disposable one, the O’Driscoll deal with the thing, or camp was farther off than she thought, but she knew for sure that she wasn’t there. And the bear was close. A sapling bent in front of her and the there was that shape, huge, dangerous, and her heart skipped a beat, another snuffle- it had to have noticed her- and then she was shooting, once, twice, three times-

She heard shouts behind her, someone yelling her name, suddenly very loud, and then arms were on her, pointing the gun down, it felt hot in her hand- 

Arthur was staring at her, both hands on her shoulders, even using his bad arm, making sure she was okay, there was a brief second of terror shared between them, oh lord, she had almost been killed by a bear and he was gone- and then Charles laughed.

“Arthur, you dumbass.” He was crouching next to the shape, which was now motionless on the ground. “It was a boar.”

Arthur let go of her and stumbled over to Charles, staring down at it. He gaped at it for a moment. “It’s pretty big though,” he reasoned, a chuckled at the edge of his voice. “Those can be beasties.”

Charles clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not even that big.”

“Come on. If you look at it just right though-“

Charles stepped over the dead boar over to Effie, taking the gun from her hand and slipping it back into her belt. She didn’t realize that her hand was shaking, partly fear, partly adrenaline, partly muffled laughs. A boar. A goddamn boar. He took her arm, leading her back toward camp. His hands were warm, large, comforting. “You can drag that thing back over, and we’ll thank Miss Elwood for the nice hearty stew we’ll get tomorrow.”

Effie clung to him for support as they navigated the brush back to camp.

“Wait, Charles! I need- Charles, I’ve only got one hand- Charles?”


	6. shines when the sunset shifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadie and Effie have a Talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the best chapter? Did I know how to end it? No. Is some crazy shit planned? Yes.  
> (Also thanks to anyone who gave kudos or comments yall are so sweet)

She awoke to a completely different camp the next morning, although she didn’t notice at first. Well, it wasn’t clear if the change was with the camp or with her, but something about getting scared shitless in the woods with Arthur by a boar had shifted something she couldn’t place. 

She stumbled her way over to Pearson, wiping the sleep from her eyes and throwing her bed-mussed hair into some sort of bun. Pearson handed her a bowl of eggs, and she sat down, yawning. It was late in the morning, sure, but she had found it hard to fall asleep after all the adrenaline so late. Someone slapped down a tin cup of steaming coffee in front of her.

“Wake up, trophy hunter.” Sean was across from her, eyes bright with a smile. Effie took the coffee gratefully, sipping and immediately scrunching up her face as she burned her entire mouth. He laughed. “Heard you saved Arthur’s life after he ran away screaming from a bear last night.”

“Seems to me you’ve got your details a bit mixed up,” she said bashfully.

He wagged a finger at her. “Everything that comes out of me mouth is true, and that’s the truth.” 

“It wasn’t even a bear, it was a boar.”

Sean laughed. “Judging by the way Arthur came screaming into camp last night, I don’t reckon it’d be anything else.” He feigned a frightened face, donning a thick drawl. “’Charles, Charles, get the shotgun!’”

“You’re missing the part where I was crying for poor Miss Elwood’s soul.” The real Arthur seated himself, stuffing a forkful of eggs in his mouth. 

“Aye, he was screaming like a little girl while the actual little girl was killing a bear.”

“A boar,” Effie corrected again. 

“Was probably just like that time you killed that African lion in Emerald Ranch, eh?” Sean clapped him on the back. The image of a giant yellow cat with a fluffy orange mane like she’d seen drawn in storybooks came to mind and she cocked her head, puzzled. 

Arthur raised his fork pointedly. “That was a real lion. Weren’t no dog or nothin, it killed people.”

“Arthur Morgan and his tall tales,” Sean laughed. He was getting some delight in taunting the bigger man- again, a strange juxtaposition of what she’d thought about Arthur Morgan before she began settling in; he didn’t seem like a man that anyone would mess with, but here Sean was, teasing him like a brother. “Don’t believe a single word out of this bloke’s mouth.”

“I cut off its foot. It’s in my trunk.” 

“You have a lion foot in your trunk?” Effie asked. 

Arthur blinked. “What else am I s’posed to do with it?”

“Effie.” Charles was now there too, a satchel slung over his shoulder. His hair was out of its braid today, freely flowing down his back. “Ready to go?”

“Oh shit, just a minute.” Effie remembered the trip into town with Charles and Sadie, shoveling down the eggs. She tried to take another drink of coffee, but the mouthful burned again, and tears sprung into her eyes. Sean watched her, amused. 

“Going into town, Charles?” Arthur asked, lighting a cigarette on Sean’s cheek, who flinched back.

“-hey-“

“Someone’s got to escort the ladies while you’re playing sad old man,” Charles replied. The way he spoke didn’t have a discernable shift in tone that she could detect, and Effie’s first instinct was to take it as a snide remark, but Arthur rolled his eyes, a small smile at the corner of his lips.

“Only a matter of time before I get the lumbago,” he said dramatically. “Pick some hair pomade, too.”

“Feeling fancy?”

“Nah. Was gonna give you ringlets like Mary-Beth.”

“Bye, Arthur.” Charles started toward the horses, and Effie shoveled a last mouthful of eggs in her mouth. He called back. “Sean, you coming?”

“Who’s all going?” Sean called back, still leaning in his seat. 

“Me, Sadie, Effie.”

“Oh shoite,” he said, scrambling to his feet and straightening his jacket. He followed at Effie’s heels. “Well now, Miss Elwood, if I leave you with the two of them you’re going wind up as cranky and dour as they are.”

“Heard that, MacGuire.” Sadie already sat at the front of the cart, elbows on her thighs, hat pulled low. She watched Effie stonily, and Effie looked down and headed to the back of the cart. 

“Only jesting, Sadie,” Sean said coolly. “Everyone knows that you’re the brightest light in the gang.”

“Brightest light is the sun reflecting on your pale white ass,” Sadie retorted, flicking the reins. Effie stifled a giggle. 

Effie looked over the edge of the cart as they traveled. There were trees that she had never seen before, grayish bark that cracked to show an almost red interior, with great arching roots that tangled themselves into the water, framed by low-hanging moss. A huge bird glided over their heads, white wings tipped with black, landing on long, spindly legs in the water. It looked at her with a beady eye. 

“Where exactly are we?” Effie asked. “South?”

“Lemoyne,” Sadie called back. 

“What?” Last she could recall, the O’Driscolls camp that she’d been held in was somewhere between Blackwater and Strawberry. She’d never been this far east before. Had she really come that far? Maybe she’d been more out of it on that long, painful ride than she’d thought. 

“You had one hell of a vacation with Arthur,” Sean mused, noticing her confusion. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Rhodes,” Sadie answered again. “Pinnacle of the southeast.”

“Where marrying your second cousin is considered marrying too far out from your family,” Sean mused. 

“Don’t joke around like that around town, especially you, Effie. Small town. Many people still angry about abolitionism. Created a lot of jobs around here,” he explained, his tone   
dark. “Make sure to stick with Sadie or Sean. Don’t wander off.” 

“Ah.” 

Indeed, there had been eyes on her and Charles as soon as they entered the general store, wary, watching. Effie had been used to stares like this before, especially when travelling with her father when she was young- a tall, blonde German man with a little dark skinned girl wasn’t exactly inconspicuous- but she could tell she was in a different place as the shop keep’s hands drifted below the counter, probably hovering over a hidden shotgun. Yes, they were definitely in Lemoyne. 

Sadie and Sean perused through the store catalog, picking out clothes for Effie, which Effie guided Charles in scanning the shelves for medical supplies they could use. The medical cures were pretty pricey, and Effie’s fingers lingered over them, hesitant. 

“Don’t want no trouble,” the shop keep said, causing Effie to turn. 

“Wasn’t aware there would be any,” Sadie said coolly, not looking up. She leaned against the counter, hand on her hip, drawing the shop keep’s eye to the revolver on her gun. Not threatening, just letting her know it was there. “Do you have any of these shirts in stock?” she asked, gathering the keep’s attention. 

“Arthur knows how to make some pretty good medicines,” Charles said under his breath as Effie drew her hand away from the cures. “No use buying them from this asshole.” He glanced toward the door. She could sense a tinge of anxiety in his posture, his burly shoulders tensed. “Let me know when everyone’s done in here, I’m going to wait outside.” The bell on the door ringed as he swung it shut. The keep, still talking with Sadie, watched him go, and Effie shot him a glare. 

“Miss Edwards, if you please,” Sadie said, beckoning her over. She looked up at the keep. “Have anywhere my friend can try on some clothes? My friend here,” she jabbed a thumb in Sean’s direction, who tipped his hat. “Is going to stand outside the door just in case any of that trouble you mentioned earlier starts happening.” She smiled at him, and the keep’s ears turned red as Sean’s hair. 

The keep led them to a spare room, likely also used as storage, but it had a long mirror propped in one corner. Sadie locked the door behind them. 

“I grabbed you the same kind of pants I have,” she said, pressing a stack of clothes into Effie’s arms. “Most other men’s pants come with a bit too much room in the front, which is wishful thinking if you ask me.” Effie fumbled with the pile of fabric, one of her arms still slung to her chest. “Sorry honey, I’ll- here, let me take that-“

Sadie helped her into the trousers, which were still overly large, and Sadie opened the door a crack, telling Sean to ask if there were any smaller sizes. 

“I’m sorry,” Effie blurted. “About your husband. I didn’t- I don’t-“

Sadie stared at her for a good moment, almost as if in a trance. Effie cursed herself. Why did she say that? In the most awkward of situations- a store room in the middle of a racist   
town while she had a broken arm? There were definitely better scenarios where this conversation could’ve happened. But there was something inside her that had shifted this morning, where she wanted this woman to like her. She could start to see something, a life maybe, with this group, and she wasn’t going to have it if she was scared of Sadie the entire time. She couldn’t read Sadie at all- unsure if her expression was anger, grief, murder, anything. 

The both jumped at the knock at the door, but it was just Sean with the second pair of pants. 

“You know, I was this close to killing you when you got here,” Sadie said almost conversationally. “Already had Kieran to remind me. Didn’t want another. I knew that Dutch would be pissed, but…” Sadie helped her change, giving Effie an arm to balance on. She knelt, examining the hems. “But when I came and visited you, um…” she sighed. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, softer. “You were just as scared as I was, back when… and just as hurting, and… well, it’s only a man that can do something like that to a woman.” She stood and turned away, fingering through the pile of shirts. Hiding her face. Her voice didn’t give anything away, though. “Us women, especially in this life, we gotta look out for each other. And for you to hurt that man like that-“

“Nate.” The name slipped out of her mouth.

“… Nate. Well, he must’ve hurt you much worse first.” She brought her a dark blue shirt, the same style as hers. She kept her eyes focused down, gently guiding her bad arm through a sleeve. “Don’t mean to assume, but women can always tell. I don’t know what he did to you, or who he was to you, but you made the world a better place without him. And I don’t just mean that because he was an O’Driscoll,” she added, as an afterthought.

Effie stared at her reflection in the mirror. The bruises were fading, only leaving a greenish tinge on her cheekbone now. Soon the only physical reminder of her past life on her would be her arm, and even that would be healed soon. And the new clothes too, that helped it feel like a fresh start, but it was melancholy. Yes, she wanted to leave that all behind, but it wasn’t going to let her get away that easy. There were the bad memories, yes, but the good ones too, with Nate and the boys- was she allowed to hold on to those? Should she let them fade away? Then then she thought of Tilly and Karen and Mary-Beth and Miss Grimshaw- oh god, they probably knew then, or would figure something out- and then then there was shame- oh god, who back with the boys knew? She thought she’d hidden it so well, but she lived so close, Nate was doing things to her and they said nothing-

Sadie looked over her shoulder. “Seems like a good fit. You satisfied?” 

Effie nodded, her voice catching in her throat. 

Sadie gave a hrmph in response, gathering the old skirt. “Alright, lets not keep the boys waiting, or they’re going to start up somethin’.” 

“… can you give me a minute?” 

Sadie looked ashamed for a second- she wasn’t the one who needed to be ashamed, it was Effie, all of it was Effie. 

“Take as long as you need, I’ll fend them off.” Just before she closed the door, she added, “None of it is your fault, Effie. Remember that. None of it.” The door closed, and Effie was alone. 

She pressed her face into the crook of her elbow, trying to keep her eyes from filling, trying to make herself very small. It was her fault, it was all her fault, Sadie didn’t know, she   
didn’t know- 

Effie took a deep breath, and forced it all out of her mind. Not now. She didn’t want to think about it now. She didn’t want to think about it ever, but she really didn’t want to think about it now. She kept herself small, taking deep breaths, calming herself- don’t think about it, don’t think- and eventually stood up. Looking in the mirror, her eyes were a little red, mostly just from the pressure. She was fine. It would be fine. 

She opened the door and ran straight into Sean, whose hand was raised as if to knock. 

“Shit,” Effie blurted. Taking an awkward step back. “Sorry.”

Sean stared at her, hand still raised. His eyes quickly scanned her face, undoubtedly looking for any signs of distress- that was probably what he thought of her now, crying all the damn time- but instead he raised his eyebrows, and quipped in his usual chipper voice, “That’s no way for a lady to speak.” 

Effie tried not to smile- this boy was a breath of fresh air, he really was, such a difference from the depressing bag of issues she held inside her- and pressed her lips together.   
“I’m okay,” she said, squeezing past him.

“Never said yeh weren’t,” he replied smoothly. “Anything that happens with a lady in private, well that never escapes my lips, you see.” When Effie turned at that comment, he blushed bright red. “Didn’t mean that in no sort of way that could be inappropriate, I am-“

“An idiot?” Sadie had been leaning against the doorframe, checking over the receipt. Ushering them out, she said to Effie, “You know, you have everyone’s permission to slap him whenever you like.”

Sean began to complain, but Effie wasn’t listening. Charles was sitting on the bench stony faced, but his leg bounced a rapid beat on the wooden porch. Effie sat down next to him, overlooking the main road of Rhodes. 

“Nice clothes,” he said, still staring out at the street. He watched people closely, focusing intently on each person who passed before his eyes flicked to another. She wondered what, or who, he was looking for. 

“You okay?” Effie asked quietly, giving his knee a gentle poke. 

He stopped bouncing his leg, sighed. “A little jumpy. Don’t like this town. Run by two families, you see.”

“Southern blood feud?” Effie had read about a conflict like that in Huck Finn that she borrowed from Mary-Beth. 

“Yep. Dutch’s got us playing both sides. Got a bad feeling about it.” His voice was low, only loud enough for Effie to hear. That sounded like a much more complicated plan than the O’Driscolls would ever be able to pay off. They were usually better suited to robbing, stealing, the like. “Just waiting for it all to turn sour.” 

“Sounds risky.”

He grunted. “That’s Dutch nowadays.”

Effie wanted to ask him about van der Linde- Dutch, but that still didn’t feel right- and how he started running with this gang, what was making him stay, maybe who was making him stay. But he seemed so closed, so walled off, and that intimidated her. She wondered if even Arthur, or any of the long-time gang members was ever able to tell what he was thinking. 

On the way back to camp, which Effie now learned was called Clemen’s point, Sadie tried her best to explain the two-sided con they were playing. There were the Grays that were the sheriffs, and then the Braithwaites (cousin-fuckers, Sean called them), and maybe some gold buried somewhere in the area. This all served as a primer for when they arrived, for Hosea had prepared a crash course on the scheme and the “rules”. He told Effie that they were playing nice, displaced folk simply just helping out the Grays as deputies (Effie snorted at this one, outlaws out-lawing the law, it was ridiculous). They had about half the men working with each family, swapping information as it developed. Because of this, they had to keep an even lower profile- Dutch had forbidden the use of any weapons around Rhodes and any schenanigans that would draw attention to them, especially one that would place two of the members on opposite “sides” together. It was still early in the con, so going out with Charles, Sadie, and Sean was alright for the time being.   
“From here on out though,” Hosea continued. “You better make sure you’re hanging out with the right people. And if both the families eventually learn who you are, you’d better make sure they don’t start swapping notes.”

“Wow,” Effie said, her mind still processing what she had just learned. 

“As long as we play this smart and safe,” Hosea said solemnly, “we’ll get a score big enough for us to go anywhere. Smart and safe.”


	7. when the moon is round and full

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a campfire, and Effie gets hammered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning: one bit of ableist language, that's it tho

The next few weeks were spent learning. Learning people’s names, learning camp habits, what chores needed to be done when. Hosea ran her through what they’d pulled with the Braithwaites and Grays already. Arthur took her out to the Heartlands and surrounding areas (supervised by Charles, because Miss Grimshaw was still convinced either her or Arthur would manage to re-injure themselves somehow) to learn about local herbs and how to make them into medicines or poultices. He drew out pictures of them in his journal and tore them out for Effie to keep, bashfully ignoring her surprise of how good of an artist he was. There it was again- Arthur Morgan, full of surprises and contradictions. Over the same couple of days, Charles showed her how to track once she would be able use her arm again and hunt; Arthur joined them, and they spent hours stepping in Charles’ footprints as he pointed out bits of fur stuck to plants, or scat, or claw marks on trunks or branches, showing Effie how and where to step to reduce sound, how to tell which way the wind was blowing. Once or twice Arthur tried to snatch the bow off Charles’ shoulder so he could take a shot at something and finally stretch out that shoulder but was just met with smacks on the head. They barely spoke during these tracking periods, instead focusing on the nature around them, and Effie found it incredibly calming. Less calming, though, when they tried to teach her how to skin an animal in the wild with one hand, which Effie suspected was purely for their own amusement. Arthur tried pointing where she should cut and pull and tried to assist in his own one-handed way, holding while Effie tugged, while Charles would lean against a tree, looking amused but a little offended as they managed to completely mangle a perfectly good deer pelt. They went to bed early, exhausted, and got up early, eating meals of game they cooked and Arthur seasoned using herbs he had scavenged. Those couple of days were probably the calmest Effie had ever experienced, and she wasn’t sure if it was the camping in the open nights, or the lack of need for conversation, or the presences of Charles and Arthur next to her, both of them so warm, so solid, so strong. Listening to their even, slow breaths as she tried to fall asleep. Solid. So sure. 

However, it was a nice change when they got back, carrying pelts and carcasses on the backs of their horses, to get hit with the sudden sociality of the camp. Jack was there to meet them, excitedly showing Uncle Charles, Uncle Arthur, and now “Aunt Effie” how Cain could run faster than him again, barking and bounding circles around him, the wound on his leg now reduced to some graphic scarring. Sean, Javier, John, and Karen always tried to get her to play poker with them once the sun had set, but due to her aversion to gambling- she just never had the luck for it- they settled for her playing dealer and continually accusing her of cheating in favor of whoever was winning at the moment.  
Sometime during their absence Micah had returned to camp, apparently with a decent chunk of cash as an apology to Dutch, though he neglected to apologize to anyone else for his fuckery the last time they’d seen him. Many of them- Effie, Arthur, Sadie, and Abigail especially- continued to avoid him. It helped that he spent a lot of time in Rhodes now, helping Bill with being a deputy or whatever with the Grays, though it turned Effie’s stomach to think of him in a place of power, those beady eyes looking down at people over that greasy mustache. 

She went back out onto the lake with Hosea a couple more times. Sometimes he would tell her stories of the early days with the gang- she enjoyed the ones of angsty teenage Arthur, trying to picture a smaller version of the giant she knew sulking after not being allowed in the bar. Sometimes she would tell her own stories, ones that were most innocent and inobtrusive if she felt like talking, but Hosea never pushed her to. There was some sort of unspoken agreement there, that if she wanted to talk, he would listen and no one else would hear, out on that smooth, silent lake. But those stories- they were buried deep. 

Dutch- the name was starting to come easier to her now- did push her, however; he sat her down one of the nights, trying to get her to remember where any of the O’Driscoll camps had been, what their plans were, what they were up to. Effie tried, pointing out old locations on the map, remembering old schemes that Nate had mentioned, but she had never been involved in many of the crimes or cons of the gang, and by now many of those memories had begun to slowly fade out of usefulness. Dutch thanked her graciously, however, promising that they would keep her safe from any O’Driscoll that came sniffing. At that she began to understand the loyalty they all had to Dutch- aside from his more alarming behavior the night Micah shot Cain, he was amiable, often joining them at breakfast or campfires, listening to what people had to say or ideas for robberies and such. He wasn’t like Colm, she was realizing. 

Nothing like him.  
……………………………………………………………………

Miss Grimshaw held Effie’s arm, pressing her thumbs into it, feeling the bone. It was evening, the sun just passing below the horizon. Arthur leaned against a post nearby, his turn next. Dutch oversaw all of it casually. “Does this hurt?”

“No, Miss Grimshaw.”

Miss Grimshaw stood up, looking satisfied. “Alright. You’re fine. Go do whatever it is you kids are doing now, don’t break it again.”

Effie smiled, failing to resist the urge to waggle her entire arm in the air. It felt weaker from under use, but it was fine. She had two working arms again. She could do things now, she could sew, or shoot, or ride without help, or pull her hair back, even.

“Miss Grimshaw?” Arthur called to the retreating woman. 

“Arthur, you’ve been healed to working order for a week, I just didn’t tell you,” she said back without turning around. “Don’t do anything stupid, you two.”

Arthur stuttered, realizing the implications of what she said, and threw his hat on the ground. “Goddamnit! A week?! Dutch?!”

Dutch shrugged, not bothering to stifle a smile. “Didn’t want to break the shiny toy just when I got it back, my boy.”

Arthur huffed, frustrated, held up a finger like he wanted to say something, but clamped his mouth shut instead and started stomping off toward his tent. 

“Grab a beer on your way over, Arthur,” Dutch called. “Beer and moonshine on me tonight!” 

A cheer rose up from the camp, while Arthur, still trying to sound angry, yelled back, “You stole that moonshine, you son of a bitch!” 

Dutch waved him off, smiling. There was that look again, like a father, proud of his son. “Now you know, young lady, tomorrow we’re going to figure out how to best earn your keep.”

Effie blushed. “Yes, sir.” She would. She knew she would. She had to, to stay here.

“I’ll have Arthur and John take you out shooting, see how accurate Kieran has been with his stories. A team of ladies such as Sadie and yourself could do some great things.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Enjoy yourself tonight, Miss Elwood.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Miss Effie!” Uncle waved her over to the table, gathered with Karen, Mary-Beth, and Sean. There was a giant brownish jug sitting in the center, stoppered with a giant cork. “Want to try some of the famous Braithwaite moonshine?”

“Uh-“

“Of course she will,” Sean chirped, setting out six shot glasses. It had been a long time since she’d been drunk, to be honest- a long time since the boys- the O’Driscoll boys, that is- had a good campfire, a while since Nate had allowed her to get drunk. “Arthur, ye big grump, get over here! Just a second, ladies, gotta go get the old man- no offense, Uncle-“

“None taken.“ 

He hopped over to Arthur’s tent, animatedly trying to pull him over to the table. Effie looked around the camp. Dutch had put on something on his grand old gramophone, and he was dancing with Miss Molly, holding her tight. Lenny and Hosea were playing five finger fillet- a stupid game to play while drunk, but the night was still young, so it would still be some time before Effie expected she’d have to break out the catgut. Over at the campfire, Javier was strumming on a guitar and singing- she’d seen him with the guitar, but she hadn’t heard him sing yet. He had a nice voice. Abigail and John sat with Jack around him, Kieran nearby, Charles across from them. He looked content, but as always, he was hard to read. She wondered what he would be like drunk- would he be the same, or would he get all loopy? Effie caught his eye and raised up a shot glass as an offering. He held up a beer bottle in response. Effie wiggled the glass with her fingers, bobbing her eyebrows. Charles rolled his eyes but got up, taking a place at the table. 

“What is this?” he asked cautiously, eying the jug. Sean had finished dragging Arthur over, and Uncle was struggling to pour from the giant bottle. 

“Braithwaite moonshine, my good Charles,” Uncle said, straining. Charles sighed deeply, already looking like he was regretting his choices. He threw his head back, finishing the beer bottle, and Effie raised her eyebrows. 

“We’re in for a wild one tonight, my friends,” Sean said, his gaze on Charles as well, and grinned around at the group. They all raised the glasses, clinked them in the middle, tapped them back on the table, and threw the shots back. Effie, not knowing the little ritual, was a little late and was the last to take the shot. She nearly yelled as soon as it touched her throat- it burned like nothing she’d ever had before. Sean whooped, and everyone else was choking and gasping as she was. Arthur leaned against the table, a painful smile on his face, eyes squeezed shut. 

“That was it?” Charles asked, looking down at his glass. Effie turned to look at him incredulously, tears in her eyes from the alcohol, but- he was smirking at her? “Kidding, that was awful.”

“One more for the ex-cripples!” Sean cheered, slapping another generous shot in front of each her and Arthur. “A drink to good health!” 

The rest of them egging them on, Effie did hers, sputtering, and Arthur followed, taking the shot and slamming down the glass on the table, his face completely stoic for as long as he could manage until he gave into coughing. Effie felt herself smiling, laughing, her face warm- oh lord, this was much stronger than she thought. For the first time, it was like she was revisiting a memory, but a good one, and it didn’t hurt. There were those nights with the boys when everyone got rowdy, and this was like that, but she didn’t feel that pang in her gut when she remembered them. 

Effie turned to tell something to Charles- she wasn’t exactly sure, she just had the urge to say something, anything, but he was suddenly gone. She blinked, confused, but then Sean was there, his arm wrapping smoothly around her waist, taking her hand, and then they were dancing- well, Sean was dancing to the upbeat song Javier was playing, and Effie was trying to keep up, and he was twirling her, and then the alcohol really kicked in and the night seemed to speed up. She was pulled away by Sadie, laughing and breathless, over to a spot further from the fire, where someone had painted an X onto a tree. Arthur, Charles, and John were there, throwing knives at the tree, trying to hit the center of the X. They pressed a stack of knives into her arms, urging her on. Apparently they were playing some sort of drinking game along with it, so Effie of course was given more moonshine as a punishment for only hitting the edge of the X one time out of five.

“Not fair,” she protested, eyes watering after the penalty shot. Her words were beginning to slur a little bit, and her head felt light, but she felt better than she had in weeks. A strange lightness, a new lightness, maybe something to do with the drink, maybe something to do with the company- she wasn’t sure right now. “I had a broken arm!” 

Arthur grinned at her wickedly, throwing five knives in quick succession, each one hitting the tree, only two of them failing to hit part of the painted X. He winked, patting his own formerly wounded shoulder pointedly. 

“Not fair,” she laughed, and Charles was smiling at her in some sort of way that made her smile even bigger, and then she was twirled back into a dance, by Mary-Beth, drunk and giggling, by Lenny, by Sean, by drunken Micah, who dodged her kick to his balls, then Sadie, or maybe it was Effie that dragged Sadie into the dance. Then Sadie was gone, and she was swinging Charles’ arms to the beat of the song, while he let her, smiling begrudgingly, trying not to show he was having a good time. 

And then they had all settled around the campfire, by Javier and his songs. Everyone was well drunk now, the moon high in the sky. Effie sat with her back against the log that served as a bench, between Lenny and Uncle, who was teaching her the words to all the dirty songs that she didn’t know. Hosea lead them through ring-dang-do, some of the men singing boisterously, others enthusiastically mumbling through the verses they didn’t know, while Effie and the other women giggled. Javier began some sort of call-and-response song, all in Spanish, which everyone joined in with, though Effie suspected that the English translation of the song was about as appropriate in a schoolhouse as ring-dang-do was. Her head was now very fuzzy and she was slipping more into a slouch by the campfire, all while grinning stupidly. She’d missed this. She didn’t think she’d get this kind of thing- this kind of night- anymore, but here she was. She hummed to herself, smiling, and was vaguely aware of someone moving her foot away from the fire with a stick. 

“Whatcha singin’, Effie?” She didn’t realize that Javier’s song ended, and she dissolved into giggles. 

“Jus’ a- the bronco song,” Blank smiles from the circle. “Y’all don’t know the bronco one?”

“Sing it,” Uncle said, nudging. He was met with cheers from the group. 

Effie’s face went hot. “I’m-“ she hiccuped. “I’m gonna get all the words wrong,” she protested. They insisted, Lenny shaking her shoulder, Javier lifting her to her feet. “I’m gonna mess up!”

“Kieran!” Sean bellowed, and fell into laughter when he remembered Kieran was sitting right next to him. “Kieran, O’Driscoll sing along!”

The group hooted and jeered, and he too was lifted to his feet beside Effie. They tried starting the song at different times, leading to more laughter, but eventually fell into it, Kieran picking up were Effie slurred into mumbles, holding her up. 

_“My love is a rider, wild horses he breaks,_  
_But he promised to quit it all just for my sake;_  
_He sold off his saddle, his spurs, and his rope,_  
_And there’ll be no more riding, and that’s what I hope._  
_The first time I saw him was early last spring,_  
_A-riding a bronco, a high-headed thing;_  
_He laughed and he talked as they danced to and fro_  
_He promised he’d not ride no other bronco-“_  

Javier had started accompanying them with something that sort of fit the drunken melody they had, and someone whistled. A few of them were mumble-singing the melody with them, letting them finish the lines. 

_“-Now all you young ladies that live on the Platte_  
_Don’t marry the cowboy who wears a white hat;_  
_He’ll pet you and court you and then be will go_  
_And ride up the trail on another bronco!”_

Effie and Kieran finished the song with a flourish and the circle cheered, forcing them to take a sloppy bow. Effie was laughing, harder than she’d ever had before, doubling over, Kieran supporting her weight. 

“Mr. Duffy,” Hosea chuckled. “Would you be so kind as to lead Miss Effie to her bedroll?” Someone whistled. More laughter. Kieran began leading her away from the campfire. “No funny business, or we’ll geld you for real this time!”

Tears of laughters were streaming down her face. “What's 'e mean?”

She couldn’t see his face as they went further into the darkness, but she was pretty sure he was blushing. 

“Why ‘s your sideburns like that?” She asked. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

“Huh?” 

She was giggling again, her legs not working, and he stumbled to catch her. 

“ _Mmmph_ \- Effie- you gotta-“  
She fell onto the ground, rolling onto her back. It was just too funny. That she was here. Kieran’s facial hair. Why was it like that? Did he know he looked like that? It was- he- oh, lord-

“Effie- oh god, thanks-“

Strong arms grabbed her from under her shoulders, lifting her into the air like a child. Her face was buried in someone’s neck, she couldn’t stop giggling. His hair smelled like smoke from the fire, something else. He smelled really good, like nature and outdoors and leather. 

“Kieran-“ she said, but this wasn’t Kieran. Where did he go? She looked around, squirming, the arms holding her tighter as they carried her.  
“Right here, Miss Effie.” He was walking next to them, looking awkward. 

“You- you-“ She blew a raspberry. How was she supposed to say it? She had to tell him. “I owe you,” she managed. 

“Uh-“ If his face wasn't red before, it definitely was now.

“No,” she said, the giggles overtaking her. “No no no no, not like that,” she took a deep breath, buried her face in the person’s neck. She had to tell him, it was so goddamn important and he probably didn’t know. “I owe you my life,” she said, voice muffled. 

“What?”

Why didn’t he understand? She was telling him, right here. “You saved me, Kieran- he was gonna kill me and so I killed him and then they were gonna kill me and then these guys were gonna kill me and then-“ she looked at him, knowing he’d understand. He had to. “And you saved me.”

Kieran looked at her, still puzzled. Effie groaned in exasperation, burying her face in the stranger’s burly shoulders. She did it. Now he knew.

“What?” she heard him ask. 

“You heard her,” the person said, deep voice rumbling. It felt funny. Effie buried her head further. “Remember it. She’s not going to remember anything tomorrow. Goddamned Braithwaite moonshine.” 

Tilly sat up on her bedroll, rubbing her eyes and smiling as they lowered her down. Effie saw her and smiled. Tilly was so pretty. She told her that, and Tilly smiled. Such a pretty smile. Effie looked up, seeing Charles now, his face lined with concern, Kieran next to him, looking awkward.

“Your hair is so pretty,” Effie slurred, reaching out to touch his hair. Instead, someone pushed a canteen into her hands. 

“I’ll take it from here boys,” Tilly said, amused. “Say good-night, Miss Effie.”

She was suddenly very tired. She cradled the canteen in her hands. “G’night Kieran. G’night Charles. Thanksforsavingme.” 

The two of them looked down at her, confused. But Tilly waved them away, and turned back to Effie, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders. 

“Now Miss Effie,” she said softly, sternly. “You drink all that water or I’m gonna kick your ass harder than your hangover will tomorrow morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god is this turning into a harem i have no idea what i'm doing


	8. gotta bust that box, gotta gut that fish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie tries to shoot a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words, errybody :)

Arthur blinked, staring at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes. A pack and two rifles were slung over his shoulder, ready to leave for shooting practice. 

“How in the hell are you conscious right now?”

Effie swallowed her mouthful of eggs. It was the morning after the party, early enough that mist still swirled across the surface of the lake. 

“Tilly’s hangover cure,” she answered simply. 

He stared at her, squinting, failing to find any bloodshot eyes or dark circles. “What in god’s name did she give you?”

Effie shrugged, finishing her coffee. Did Tilly make her smell Cain’s shit until she threw up everything in her system and them pump her full of snake oil and oakcakes? Yes she did and yes, it was a hellish hour or so of her life, but she wasn’t going to say that. “We ready to go?”

Arthur was still staring at her, dumbfounded. He kind of squinched up his nose when he got confused. “Uh, yeah,” he said eventually, straightening up. “John’s grabbing some extra ammo, Hosea said you can borrow Silver Dollar-“ he tossed a rifle to her, which she barely caught, not expecting it. “Hold on to that.”

Arthur had to help her onto the horse- it had been a while since she’d ridden, and her arm wasn’t strong enough to pull herself up yet. John joined them, another pair of rifles across his back in addition to a full bandolier and another satchel, which Effie presumed was filled with ammunition. 

“We planning on fighting an army?” Effie asked.

John chuckled, his long hair falling across his face as he readied his own horse. “Don’t go pressing our luck already, Miss Effie.” 

They continued down the trail leading away from Clemens Point, Arthur leading, John tailing behind. Keeping an eye on her, she noticed. She vaguely wondered if it was for her own protection, or if they were concerned she’d run. Or maybe it was just a force of habit, she didn’t know. Still, she couldn’t help but believe that they still didn’t fully trust her. Arthur led them east, past Rhodes to a portion of land filled with rolling hills. He hitched his horse at a lone tree on the top of a particularly steep slope and tossed John some empty bottles. 

“Set those up down there,” he said, pointing at the base of the hill, some 100 or so feet away. “We’ll try out the scope first, this way any stray bullets will just meet the ground. No offense to your shooting skills, Miss Effie. Jus’ trying to keep that low profile.”

John rode down and set up the bottles on a log, all in a row. Effie couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous- sure, she was an okay shot, but she didn’t know how much Kieran embellished. She’d been able to hit some pretty far targets back with the O’Driscolls, but that was only a couple of times, and that wasn’t counting all the times she’d missed. And close-range stuff- she was only so-so at that, but she couldn’t picture herself keeping cool during a shootout. Blood and gore she could handle. Flying bullets, having to use live-or-die instincts, that didn’t come as naturally to her.

John returned to the top of the hill and dismounted, squinting down at his work. 

“That should be okay to start with, Arthur?” 

Arthur shrugged. “We’ll see.” He nudged Effie forward, slipping the bandolier over her shoulder. “Get at it.”

“What, hitting the bottles?” Damn, they seemed so far away. 

“That would be preferable, Miss Effie,” Arthur responded. She wasn’t facing him, now looking down at the bottom of the hill, but she could picture a sly smile on her face. Effie stood for a moment, looking through the scope of the rifle. It just felt so big, so heavy. The rifle was nice, nicer than the one she had used, a castoff from one of the boy’s victims. After a minute of standing, trying to line up a shot, she got down into a lying position, using the ground and her shoulders to steady the rifle. It probably looked dumb, and she imagined Arthur could probably take a stone-steady shot while riding a horse in the middle of the night, but she was sure as hell going to get a better shot this way. She took a deep breath, placed her finger on the trigger, and pulled after a long exhale. 

A sharp crack blasted through the air, and the gun seized in Effie’s hands, the butt jamming into her shoulder, the scope hitting her in the eye. She’d forgotten about recoil, the hard punishment of using a large weapon like this. If Arthur and John were laughing at her, they were hiding it very well. A hand jostled her shoulder, and she looked up to see John, holding out two lumps of cotton. She shoved them in her ears and rubbed her eye, feeling a small bump beginning to form at her browbone. Just a practice shot, Effie told herself, preparing to see a perfectly intact bottle when she looked through the scope again. She was right- the bottle she’d been aiming at stood upright, untouched. She adjusted her position, her aim. Took a few deep breaths, finger only on the trigger when ready to shoot, just as Nate had taught her, pulled. This time she was ready for the recoil, taking the force so its impact was at least a bit softer, less jarring. The bottle still stood. Damnit, Effie thought, but she wasn’t surprised. There was no way she would be able to hit it without practice. She spent more shots over the next few minutes, eventually hitting it on her twelfth or thirteenth attempt. She rolled her shoulder, stretching. She would have a fine bruise tomorrow morning but couldn’t help but feel a little proud. It felt like the most she had been able to accomplish all by herself in a long while, and there was some pride in that. 

“One down,” Arthur said, giving her a single clap. 

“Don’t patronize me,” Effie said, mock-offended. She focused on the second target, taking her time. Hurrying wasn’t going to do her any good right now. Long, focused shots   
required her to be calm. Shaky hands meant missing. Or friendly fire. The second bottle shattered on the tenth attempt, the third on a lucky second, the fourth on the tenth again. Effie pushed herself onto her knees. Her shoulder ached, and her newly healed arm tremored a little, not quite ready for prolonged fine muscle movements. 

The sun was notably higher in the sky now, pushing through the clouds occasionally in a swell of light. She turned to see John sitting on a stump, supervising her while cleaning his own gun. Arthur was leaned against the tree, hat over his face, sleeping. Effie gestured vaguely at him, taking the cotton out of her ears. John did the same, looked back at Arthur, shrugged. 

“Once he starts sleeping we usually don’t wake him up,” John said. At first his voice was too loud, reminiscent the constant rifle fire. “Out on jobs he just… doesn’t sleep. Forgets to, I guess.”

“That sounds like a lie,” Effie said. She slung the rifle across her back and began munching on a wedge of cheese from her satchel, leaning on one leg. If she went without sleep for too long she was basically nonfunctional. 

“It’s true,” John insisted. He scratched at the scar on his cheek, remembering. “Once he was gone doing something from Strauss for a week or so, came back and slept an entire day. He woke up and didn’t know what day it was. Thought we were all messing with him.” Effie wrinkled her nose at the mention of Strauss. John noticed, saying, “Yeah, I know its dirty work, but it’s necessary, and Arthur is-“

Effie waved her hand, cutting him off. “Strauss just… reminds me of someone.”

John nodded in understanding, but didn’t pry further. Effie realized that if he did though, she would probably tell him about her father. Not everything. Just enough. Even that little bit would be more than most of the O’Driscoll boys knew. Now, she didn’t know John as well as some of the others, but there it was again, that weird thing about this gang- it was safe. As far as she could tell, they had already accepted her as an O’Driscoll, so they would probably accept her for other things as well; after all, many of them had probably done worse, or seen worse, or lived through worse. It was strange, having this kind of relationship with people, or at least strange for Effie. She was used to keeping her cards close to her chest, folding early, never letting anyone in- except Nate, but that was something different- and now with these people there was the strange pressure of knowing she could talk to someone. Open up. Talk about feelings. But her old apprehensions were still there, and she was still clinging to them like a lifeline. 

Just in case. 

John finished cleaning his gun and gestured down the hill toward the broken bottles. “Lets go take a look, we can set up more. Try out some quicker short range stuff.”

Effie laughed off the anxiety that flitted through her stomach. “You’re going to be disappointed. I’m no gunslinger.”

“I wasn’t neither, at first.” 

Effie started down the hill, stumbling at first, catching herself before she started tumbling. She found herself peeking back behind her; Arthur was still sleeping. “When did you start this whole thing?”

“You mean the outlaw life?” He laughed shortly, rubbing at the scars on his face again. He paused. “Maybe ‘bout fifteen or so years ago? Can’t really remember.”

“How old were you?” 

“Eleven. Dutch took me in about a year later. Taught me to read and stuff. Arthur was the one who taught me to shoot.”

Eleven years old. Her gut told her that was so young- he was a child. But then, at eleven, so was she. Thinking back now, this way of living- dodging the law, making money by any means necessary, survival- it began earlier than that. She recalled vividly hiding in a wardrobe, younger still, while what sounded like explosions rang throughout the house. He father had put her there, told her to keep quiet, he had to deal with an angry patient. That was the first time she’d sewn back together human flesh, under her father’s careful command, the needle too big for her tiny hands, the blood running down her hands and elbows. She’d been terrified then, clueless as to why anyone would want to hurt her father like that. 

Now, she knew he deserved it. And so much more. 

“Alright, Miss Effie.” John squatted down by the log, examining the broken bottles. “You know, this is actually pretty good.” He traced small pits embedded in the stump, bits of sawdust sticking to his fingertip. “Huh. How many shots did you fire?”

Effie tried to count in her head. “More than thirty, I think. Sorry I used so much ammo.”

John walked in a circle around the log, observing the ground. “Well, I found fourteen bullet holes. Or craters, whatever.” He gave her a shrug. “I’d say if you had bigger targets, you’d have a pretty good record. Not bad, Miss Elwood. We’ll make a gunslinger of you yet.” He pulled four more bottles out of his satchel, lining them up on the log. “Alright, now hit ‘em.”

Effie shoved the cotton back into her ears and raised her borrowed revolver. It felt heavy. Not like the rifle heavy- that had balance, a proper shape, something that the revolver didn’t. She held it in front of her, looking down the barrel at the dark brown shape of the bottle, just fifteen or so feet away. 

Her hands shook a little. 

It’s the boar, she told herself. Its just like that boar. Nothing else. She tried to shove the image of that giant animal into her mind, wanted to put her finger on the trigger, but there was something in her gut that pulled, told her not to, told her she couldn’t do it again. The neck of the bottle looked vaguely like the top of a man, shoulders were it curved outward. Her arms were heavy. She could tell her hands were trembling, her breathing a little higher and a little shallower than usual. She wanted to put it down, but her fingers were clamped around it in a vicelike grip. 

She had to shoot. She had to shoot for her own survival. She had to shoot so they would let her stay. Her finger slid slowly across the trigger, freezing there for a moment, before she willed herself to pull. 

She fired, once, twice, emptied the chamber. 

She smelled gunsmoke as the echo settled, and pulled the cotton out of her ears. 

“You know, I thought this part would be easier,” John said, staring at the four upright bottles. “Maybe you’re right, you ain’t no gunslinger.”

Effie stared at the brown glass, ears ringing even despite the ear protection. 

Of course she could hit a target back then. But not now. The revolver was just so heavy, hurting her arms to keep it up Did her target always have to be a living, breathing thing for it to hit with one of these goddamn contraptions? Maybe she was missing because she wanted to shatter those goddamn bottles, if only she didn’t want to see them break, didn’t actually want to see them hurt, then they would be in pieces-

“Effie?” John’s hand was on her arm, gently lowering it and the revolver. 

“I’m fine,” she replied. Her voice sounded far away. “I don’t like revolvers much. Can I have some more bullets, please?”

“You sure?”

“Yes, please.” John took the revolver from her, slipping more bullets into the chambers, but her gaze was locked on that first damn bottle. They wouldn’t keep her if she couldn’t shoot. She didn’t want to touch that thing again, but she needed to hit those bottles. They wouldn’t want her around if she couldn’t hit them. John put the revolver back into her waiting hand, and she raised it, aiming at the bottles again. 

“What’ch’yall doin’ over there?” Effie jumped- her finger wasn’t on the trigger yet, she hadn’t been ready to shoot, Nate would be proud of her- and spun, gun still up. She saw three young men sitting atop horses, and when she turned with the gun, they immediately brought their own weapons up. A gentle click of metal told her that John had raised his gun as well. 

Effie immediately scanned their faces. They couldn’t be O’Driscolls looking for her. Probably not. She didn’t recognize any of them, but then again, Colm went through men like cigarettes. The boys- the O’Driscoll boys- were used to much harder living though, further northwest- these ones lacked the thick layer of dry dust that would coat them, lacked the full bandanas across their faces. No, these couldn’t be them. 

Then Effie remembered- Arthur, up sleeping by the tree. Sleeping through gunfire. She resisted taking a glance over to the tree, in case they hadn’t seen him up there. 

“What’ch’yall doin’?” one of them said again, louder, more impatient. Effie glanced at John, who had his own pistol raised, his eyes narrowed, face stony.

“Mindin’ our own business,” he said. “Fuck off.” 

Not the greatest negociator, Effie noticed. 

The three of them laughed. “Fuck off? Fuck off, he says. On our own territory, fellas!” She heard John swear under his breath. “Looks to us that you’s are the ones trespassing, mister and missus. We’ll let you go nicely if you pay the toll.”

“Gotta pay the toll,” another chimed. 

Effie had to fight to keep the gun raised. No, these were definitely not the O’Driscoll boys, they didn’t have the right accents, too Southern. Still, the gun was just so goddamn heavy. She felt her hands growing clammy, slippery. She’d never been in a standoff like this, she wasn’t sure how to act, what to do, and kept John in her peripherals, ready to follow his lead.

Just keep it up, she told herself. They don’t want you if you can’t shoot.

“How’s about this for a toll,” John said, teeth gritted. “Kiss my a-“

Effie’s instincts told her to hit the ground, so she did, the revolver slipping from her grip as she did. Once again gunfire exploded into the air, stinging her ears. Her hand fumbled for the gun in the grass, and she crawled behind the log as cover, finding John there. He gave her a nod, seeing her still alive. Wood chips sparked into the air. 

“Cover me!” John cried, moving to take a shot. Effie jolted, prepared to follow his orders, but there it was again, that weight in her hands, and she forced herself to point the barrel over the log and toward the bandits, shooting while barely looking, ducking when John told her to, shooting again. She didn’t know how long this lasted, maybe seconds, maybe minutes, but eventually that gunfire faded across the hills and she was left with ringing silence. 

She peeked over the log. The men’s horses had fled, their shapes shrinking into the distance. One of them was still mounted, though slumped over his horses neck. The other two were on the ground, not moving, scarlet blossoming from their chests. John took a deep breath, opened his mouth as if to reassure her that everything was over, but that wouldn’t have been true. 

A shout traveled down the hill from the top, making them both jump this time. The revolver wasn’t in her hand anymore, she must’ve dropped it at some point, and adrenaline charged her to seize the rifle from her back, readying it in a quick movement. Two men stood at the top of the hill where they’d left the horses.

And Arthur.

One of them was pointing a rife down at Effie and John, the other with one arm around Arthur’s neck in a choke hold, the other wrapped behind his head, holding the barrel of a pistol firmly into Arthur’s temple. 

“Give us what we want and your buddy can walk away!” The one holding Arthur yelled. 

John swore again. Effie held the rifle steady, again waiting to see John’s response, ready to follow his lead. She didn’t let herself focus on anything else at the moment- if she did, someone, her, John, Arthur- would probably get shot. They wouldn’t want anyone that would panic in a shootout. Effie kept her breathing calm, waiting for motion or noise from John before she allowed herself to move, breathe, or think. 

“Wait,” John muttered under his breath to Effie. As if she had any other plan right now. They had the low ground. They had Arthur. They didn’t want anyone that couldn’t shoot. He raised his voice. “What do you want?”

“Horses. Guns.” The one holding Arthur smiled. “The pretty lady.” The one with the rifle laughed. 

“Ugh,” John huffed quietly, in disgust. Not facing Effie, he said, “I’m gonna hit the guy with the rifle. You get the guy with Arthur.”

“What? I barely hit any of those bottles,” Effie hissed back. 

“Close enough,” John whispered back. “On my mark.”

Effie’s grip around the gun tightened, prepared to move. Oh god, he was expecting her to shoot that man. The man that was using Arthur as half cover. But it was their best option, she realized- John still just had the pistol, and while he was probably a good enough shot to hit the rifleman at least somewhere, there was no way he would be able to line up a shot and not hit Arthur by accident. Which meant he was trusting Effie not to, either. A stream of curses rose in the back of Effie’s mind, but she shoved them back down. They wouldn’t want her if she couldn’t shoot.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the one holding Arthur yelled down. “We’ll show you a better time that these two pansies.” The other one whistled. 

John sighed. “Fuck it. Shoot.”

Effie popped the scope up to her eye, quickly finding the face of the men holding Arthur, pulling the trigger at the same moment John did. Through the scope, Effie watched blood splatter onto Arthur’s face- not from the side where the man’s head was, from the side where the gun was pressed to his temple- oh god- and then the man jumped back, holding his bleeding hand. Arthur swiftly drove an elbow into his sternum and the man went down. The scope slid out of her sights as the man went down, Arthur looming over him, fists raised. Her heart was beating in her ears, louder than any gunfire. Oh god. 

“Holy shit,” John said. “Did you-“ he squinted. “Did you shoot the gun out of his hand?”

Effie stared up at the hill, her eyes wide, breathing hard. Oh my god. Oh my god. Those words repeated in her mind, blocking out anything else. Ohmygod. It was playing left to right- The arm holding the gun, Arthur, the bandit. The arm, Arthur, the bandit. 

“Effie-“ He had her by the shoulders, shaking her gently. She didn’t know it at the time, but she had gone deathly pale, eyes wide, her mouth agape, swaying slightly where she stood. “Effie, it’s fine, it’s over, you’re safe. It’s fine, you did great-“

“I was aiming for his head,” Effie whispered, her voice very small and far away. 

John looked at her for a second, not understanding at first, then his jaw dropped. “Oh, fuck. Oh my god.” His mouth moved, trying to form words, nothing coming out. Then he made a weird face- Effie was scared for a moment he was going to get angry- but it turned out he was trying to hold back a smile. His shoulders shook with silent laughter before he let it out, doubling over. “Oh my god, Effie.”

“I almost killed Arthur.” 

John howled and stood back up, wiping tears from his eyes. “Holy shit. Oh my god, Effie,” he wheezed. “Whooh. Oh lord.” 

“John, I-“

He began looting the bandit’s bodies, chuckling. “Hey, I won’t tell him if you don’t.” He looked up, in the middle of cutting a silver buckle off a belt. “Go check on him. And stop looking so weird. Even if you did shoot him, he’d probably just walk it off.”

Back at the top of the hill, Arthur was trying to soothe his horse, which was still tied to a tree. 

“You alright, Arthur?” 

“’M fine,” he said gruffly, not turning around. He patted the horse, but his movements were stiff, shoulders tense. She could tell that he was bristling with anger, trying his best to keep it in. 

Effie looked down. There was the man that John shot, the rifleman, lifeless on the ground. He’d taken a shot to the chest and seemed to have bled out. The other man- she looked at his hand that had held the gun. It was missing two fingers, but that wasn’t the worst of it. His face was a bloody mess, barely recognizable, white shards poking through the dark red. Very still. Looking back at Arthur, she saw that his knuckles were painted scarlet. Sensing her gaze, he sighed deeply, a large shuddering breath, sat down on the stump. He pulled out a cigarette and a match, lighting it on his boot, took a long drag. 

“Well, fuck,” he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He nudged the dead man’s arm with his boot. There was a small trickle of blood down his temple, where they must’ve given him a wake up call, framed by a nicely forming goose egg. 

“D’ya want me to look at that?” Effie asked, gesturing to the blood. 

He huffed, a strange sort of dark laugh. “Naw,” he said, eyes on the ruined face of the dead man. “Jus’ a scratch.” He stared for a minute, then cleared his throat. “O’Driscolls got me at the top of a hill like this. Was lookin’ down, rest of the group far away, me alone up here. Supposed to be keepin’ watch.” He took another puff, blew the smoke out his nose. “Thought they were O’Driscolls for a moment, comin’ to finish us off.”

“Me too.” He offered her the cigarette, but she waved it away. “Your hands okay?”

He chuckled for real this time, looking at his hand, fingers splayed, displaying the blood covering them. “They’re used to that,” he said nonchalantly. “Not the first time they’ve done… uh, that.” He met her stare, his eyes cold. Cold like they were down in that basement. Dangerous. A hunter’s eyes. “Don’t pretend to be worried, Miss Elwood. You’ve heard the stories ‘bout me. I’ve killed your friends. I’ve killed this son of a bitch right ‘ere. I don’ deserve any of that sympathy.” 

Effie blinked. She couldn’t figure this man out. One minute, a gentleman, a soft heart, a soft soul. Kind. Polite. But there was that other side too, the one that murdered her boys, the one that beat this man to death, the one that the boys told scary stories about at campfires. The real Arthur Morgan, heartless, remorseless. And that was who was sitting in front of her- the killer, yes, but there was something else in his eyes, his posture. A deep, soul crushing shame. 

She looked down at the dead man and wondered how many men he had killed. And how he was punishing himself for it.


	9. we can jet in a stolen cart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five finger fillet takes another victim.

They made their way back to Clemens Point by sundown. They didn’t speak much on the way back, what with Arthur closing himself off after the ambush and John leading one of the bandits’ horses, a palomino of some kind. Standardbred, maybe. Or Thoroughbred. Effie could never tell the difference. Skittish from the gunfire, there was also a red streak of blood where it had been grazed by a bullet on its flank, long but shallow. John was also silent with the secret of her near-murder of Arthur. The moment played over and over in her head, the arm with the gun, Arthur, the man, and Effie felt her face grow red, even though no one was looking at her. 

God damn. She couldn’t bear to think what would happen if she’d been off by a few inches. Hell, she was off by a few inches in the first place, aiming for the man’s head but instead hitting his hand, but if even that were off, it would’ve been Arthur’s life if she hit him by accident or even missed. She wouldn’t have been able to reload before the man had killed his hostage. 

She’d been lucky. Really damn lucky. It was an unfamiliar feeling, getting along by just a hair, and it was uncomfortable. Everything could’ve gone so wrong. Then she would be right back where she started, on the run from killing a gang’s right hand man. She could almost make a career out of it, she thought bitterly. Seemed to be the one thing she was good at. 

They were greeted with a “Who’s there?” at the border of camp by Karen, to which Arthur responded, “Us, dumbass.” 

Kieran was at the hitching posts to meet them, his eyebrows raised at the new horse. 

“Who’s this?” he asked, running a hand down its neck. The horse shuddered and flicked its tail, still nervous. “Whoah, there.”

“My new horse, I guess?” Effie dismounted, giving Silver Dollar a sugar cube for his troubles. “We- well, just John really- got him off a couple of bandits-“

“Lemoyne Raiders?” Kieran asked. John nodded. 

“Lemoyne Raiders, you say?” Dutch was suddenly leading against a hitching post on his elbows, dark eyes twinkling. “I hope you sent my regards to our dear friends.”

“We did,” John said, dismounting. “She ain’t helpful in a close shootout, but Miss Elwood here shot a pistol out of one of their hands from over a hundred feet away.” He gave her a sly grin. That son of a bitch. She would almost prefer that he hadn’t mentioned that, owing to how close she came to shooting Arthur in the goddamn head. He could’ve at least downplayed it a little bit.

Dutch whistled, patted Kieran on the back, who almost stumbled forward awkwardly in surprise. “Well, looks like Mr. Duffy is true to his word. Miss Elwood, I can already think of a few uses for your talents.” He addressed John. “Keep her practicing. We’re going to have a real sharpshooter in no time.” 

Effie blushed. She wasn’t sure she’d ever really received praise like that from any authority figure, if Dutch could be called one. Colm always welcomed her efforts- demanded, sometimes, slapping down a bleeding boy on her table- but she’d never really received as much as a thank you. And still, the praise felt falsely earned, seeing as she’d almost killed on of their own in the process. 

“Thank you, Mr. van der Linde,” she responded shyly. “I hope I can be of some help.”

He smiled a foxlike smile, knowing something she didn’t. “Well as a matter of fact, Doctor Elwood, there is a surprise waiting back at your bedroll. See to it quickly, please.” He tipped his hat, gave a nod to Arthur and John, and headed back toward camp.

Effie looked toward Kieran in a “what just happened” kind of way, and he smiled at her, tying the new horse’s lead to a post. 

“Looks like you’re making your way here,” Kieran said. He looked up at the horse. Now that Effie was closer, she could see faint spotting on the palomino. It really was a nice horse, tall, with solid muscles, clear eyes. “Nice Standardbred you’ve got here. A little jumpy maybe, you’re going to have to coddle him for a while.” He spotted the long red streak. “And maybe avoid any trouble, he’s too nervous for that. Loud noises and such. If you’re riding him, might throw you. Here,” he said, giving her a sugar cube. 

She held the sugar cube up to the palomino’s mouth. It snorted, blasting warm air onto her palm, still looking around wildly, not taking the cube. One of its hooves stomped in the dirt. 

“I don’t think he likes me,” she said warily. 

“Try talking to him?” Kieran offered. “He’ll start to learn your voice.”

“Uh, alright.” She remembered Arthur talking to his horse in a low, comforting tone. _That’s my girl_ , he said, small smile on his lips. Soft, strong. Instinctively, she looked over toward where he was, but he was already gone. Effie concentrated on the horse again. “You’re a good boy. Yeah. Good horse.”

The horse’s eyes focused on her eyes as she spoke, still looking spooked, but it reluctantly took the cube, its lips tickling her palm. 

Kieran nodded in encouragement. “That’s better. Just make sure to come visit him a lot. You gotta make a bond, you know?”

Effie smiled at Kieran incredulously, now moving to stoke the horse’s neck. “A bond?”

He blushed. “Well- yeah. You gotta make the horse trust you, and you gotta trust the horse. I dunno its like… a friendship or something.” He looked toward Branwen and shrugged sheepishly. “I dunno how to explain it, but I’d trust Branwen with my life.” 

“Okay, I will.” She looked toward him earnestly. She was truly thankful that he was here this whole time. The familiar face, even though she had barely even met him before everything went down, was still a little comforting, and knowing that he was able to come from a similar situation helped, too. Over the past couple of weeks, it seemed like he was always ready to give her help, or advice- if only she would be able to return the favor somehow. “Thank you, Kieran. Really.”

“You talking about last night?”

Effie blinked. “What?”

He looked away, trying not to smile. “Nuthin. You got a name for him yet?”

She wanted to ask him what he meant about “last night”- it really turned into a blur after throwing knives at that tree, but he looked at her expectantly now. 

Her mind was blank. “Oh. Shit. Um… Mattias.” It was the first name that popped in her head. That O’Driscoll boy, leaving his nail file down in that basement, the idiot. Was partially  
due to his stupidity that she was here, alive, today. He was dead now, though. By Arthur’s hands. The destroyed face of the Raider from the hill flashed in her mind. That cold look on his face, that reminder that the surprisingly kind man and the one she’d heard horror stories about were one and the same. It made her want to question her own opinion of him; she’d grown fond of him over the past couple weeks, maybe quite in that kind of way. But what if that was all an act? Nate had been kind and loving and protective toward her, a knight in shining armor, but slowly and surely her mind’s perception of him was crumbling, showing her the monster that he had been. And how she’d been so stupid to not see it, fall for his sweet words. What if Arthur was the same way, a demon hiding under a wholesome façade? She was brought away from those thoughts by Mattias the horse, nudging her hand for another sugar cube. 

Kieran laughed and tossed her another, which she let Mattias gobble up, happy for the distraction. “I think that means he’s okay with it. Good job today, Effie. Now go deal with the surprise at your tent.”

“What is it?” she questioned, but he ushered her off, smirking. A surprise? She couldn’t think of anything. She doubted anyone would give her a- a gift, or something? She hadn’t really don’t anything to merit a gift of any kind… maybe someone played a prank on her while she was away? She didn’t put it past a few of them, nameably Uncle and Tilly. Maybe-

She rounded the corner to see Sean sitting cross legged on her bedroll, hands in his lap. Her pace slowed suspiciously, and he grinned as she approached. 

“Ah, Doctor Elwood!” he greeted chipperly. 

“What are you-“ she looked him up and down, stopped when she saw his hands, clutching a rag. A damp rag, stained dark with- “Oh, _hell_ , Sean, are you bleeding on my bed?!”

His eyes widened and he jumped up, searching for any spots he might’ve left. Effie could see now that he was clutching the rag tightly around his fingers on his left hand. “No, Miss Effie- Miss Doctor- I just supposed I would see you promptly here-“

“What did you do?” Effie asked in monotone. “If you were playing five-finger-fillet I swear to god…”

He smiled apologetically. “Well that could potentially turn into four-finger-fillet if I don’t get a physician’s help soon, you see…”

Effie rolled her eyes and groaned. “Go sit down at the table, for fucks sake. I’ll be there in a minute.” He did what she said, and she went over to the medicine supplies, grabbing rubbing alcohol, an antibiotic salve, catgut, clean bandages. What a goddamn idiot. That was another game she didn’t quite understand, like poker; why would you want to risk losing so much for a little bit of reward? It was stupid. At least he didn’t seem inebriated- perhaps she’d make a rule where she wouldn’t help anyone who hurt themselves playing that cursed game drunk. On this thought, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey as well. 

“What the fuck did you do,” Effie muttered as she unwrapped the rag from Sean’s hand. It was decently soaked through with blood. He had surprisingly long fingers, almost dainty, but still with the rough calluses that the rest of the men had. She could almost picture him in another life, playing piano or guitar in a classy club, or painting or something. There was a deep cut, still oozing blood, on his left ring finger, nearly to the bone. The bleeding had slowed somewhat, and was now just leaking steadily. She sighed, splashed some rubbing alcohol onto an extra rag, and began cleaning his finger the best she could. 

He yelped at the sting, but carefully kept his injured hand from moving. “I thought doctors were supposed to give warnin’ when something was gonna hurt!” 

“Yeah, well. I thought I would be treating gunshot wounds or something for you guys, not drunk finger stabs.”

“For the record, I was dead sober, Doctor.”

“Stop calling me that, I’m not a doctor.” She finished cleaning the wound, then picked up her needle and catgut and slowly, carefully began stitching. He flinched at first, but let her to her job, the fingers on his uninjured hand clenching in response. 

“So where did yae learn this stuff?” he asked, watching her movements closely. He was calm, trusting of her, which made her job easier.

“My father taught me,” Effie said, concentrating on the stitching. She was letting her mouth go while her brain focused on the bloody hand. Aware what she was letting out, but at the same time, Sean proved he could shut his mouth, even though he didn’t seem like it. She had yet to hear any snide comment about her panic attack in the woods all those weeks ago, and Sean hadn’t even brought it up himself. She wondered if he was respecting her space, or just too awkward to bring it up in the first place. Still, she could sense nothing in this man that wished her unwell, and again, her story- it was pushing to get out, and this seemed like an appropriate time. There was also something soothing about sewing human skin back together, at least when her patient wasn’t in life-threatening conditions. Macabre, yes, but soothing, constant, predictable. At least, usually. Sean was a good patient as well, keeping himself very still, although that might have been in part of the whiskey she had given him. 

“So your father was Mister Doctor Elwood, I presume?”

Effie shook her head. “Doctor Engel, actually. Had to change our name a few times, pissed off a lot of people.” She felt the story ready on her tongue, and let it go. “His way of business was to go around the Indian reservations, act as a doctor. Overcharging them, taking advantage. A real asshole,” she added, bitterly. She could picture mother’s and father’s faces as they pleaded for their dying children’s lives, young men with infected wounds that her father could’ve easily treated. None of them ever had the coin though. If they did, he took all they had. “Good riddance.”

“Sounds like it,” Sean agreed. “So that’s where… he met your mum?”

Effie scoffed, tried to choose her words carefully. “I mean, I never really learned about her, but…” she gritted her teeth, tried to settle her mind on the needle and catgut. “From what I could tell, she… she…” She sighed. It felt like a fist was squeezing her heart. It was a shameful thing. “She, uh… didn’t want to spend the night with my father in the first place.” Sean was quiet. Effie pushed on. “After I was born, he took me, some sort of weird pride thing, I don’t fucking know. I don’t know if she wanted me or not. Never knew what happened to her. I guess he got kicked off that reservation pretty quickly.”

“Fucking bastard,” Sean breathed. “Uh, I don’t mean to appear unmanly, but….”

Effie became aware that she was being a little forceful with her stitching. It was surprising that Sean had remained almost motionless while she plunged the needle in and out of his skin. “Sorry.”

“No, thank you, Doctor. So you were raised by this twat, then?”

“Yeah, can’t you tell?” she chuckled icily. “Yeah. Dragged me along from place to place, acting as doctor. He was one, back in Germany, a pretty good one too apparently. Guess he fell on some rough times once he came over here… started scamming sick people out of their money. Only taught me how to do this kind of stuff because he thought injuries and shit were beneath him. ‘Disease is the noble battle,’” she quoted in a German accent. “’Anything else is nurse’s work.’”

Effie huffed and finished the stitching and began to apply some of the antibiotic salve. It was from one of Arthur’s recipes of wild herbs, made with his guidance. Charles had kindly brought her a bundle of all sorts of local herbs the other day.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m doubt anyone here has had upstanding parents. Seems t’ be mandatory for us outlaws to have shoite fathers.” 

Effie began wrapping his finger in clean bandages, gently as to not disturb her work. “What was yours like?”

Sean laughed, though there was a tinge of coldness in it. “Typical Irish stereotype, o’ course. Da’ was a drunk brute, Ma’ was a drunk bitch.” 

She tried to picture a young Sean, tiny and pale with that shock of red hair. Probably missing his two front teeth. Bold smattering of freckles across his nose, scabs on his knees, maybe. She finished bandaging, and Sean lifted his hand, admiring her handiwork.

“How will I ever pay you for your services?” He asked, eyebrows raising suggestively. Effie narrowed her eyes at him, and he pretended to be offended. “Doctor Elwood, I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but I am a proper gentleman.” He tapped his chin with his bulky, bandage wrapped finger. “I know. A hat.”

She stared at him, deadpan. “A hat?”

“Of course, Doctor. You’ll look a proper outlaw lady with a wonderful hat.”

Effie rolled her eyes. “Pretty sure that my payment is not getting killed here or left to the O’Driscolls, but fine. Get me a hat.” 

He looked at her, that bright smile across his face, but his eyes- they were filled with a seriousness she hadn’t quite seen before. When he spoke, his voice was lower, ensuring only she would be able to hear him. “Now if I were to cut one of my perfect fingers again and need some sort of medical attention… would I get to hear about this Nathaniel of yours?”

Effie felt the color drain from her face, but Sean didn’t break his gaze. That grin suggested it was a joke, but his eyes were earnest, steady. Kind. He wasn’t messing with her, trying to be cruel, it was more of a… a proposition? It was like he wanted to know her story, to be the one that she could talk to. And she felt it too, that she could trust him. That he could know. Maybe it was the fact that he’d held her all through that night while she cried, or he was just a ray of light with that goddamnned smile so that her story didn’t seem quite so bad. 

Effie gulped and lowered her eyes. She wasn’t ready for that. Not quite yet. She began gathering up her supplies. “If that happens, I will finish the job and cut your finger clean off.”

His smile didn’t falter even as she hurried away from the table, her head swimming. 

“You’re going to look fantastic in your new hat, Doctor Elwood!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some people will probably say i don't know anything about medical procedures and techniques. those people are right.  
> also i have no idea what i'm talking about 96% of the time
> 
> Thanks for the kind words everybody! You're so sweet <3


	10. bet we wouldn't get too far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MAKEOVER SESSION !!!

“Miss Elwood, do you have a moment?”

Effie looked up from dealing poker for Sean, Lenny, Hosea, and Bill to see Arthur standing before her, hands on his gun belt. 

“As soon as I finish this hand, Mr. Morgan,” she replied coolly. She wasn’t sure what he wanted; they hadn’t spoken much since the run-in with the Lemoyne Raiders during shooting practice. To be honest, still was still a little off-put about him- his dual nature, his ability to be kind and to be cruel, it just reminded her too much of Nate. Most of her wanted to believe that he was a good man. He’d been nothing but generous around camp, but the instinct was still there. 

She finished the hand- Lenny won with a pair of kings, and Sean as usual playfully accused her for cheating- and excused herself from the table. 

Arthur leaned against the side of Pearson’s cart, puffing on a cigarette, his hat covering his eyes. 

“Heard you’re getting pretty good with that rifle,” he stated, flicking the butt of the cigarette onto the ground and squashing it with his boot. 

“I don’t know about that,” Effie replied. She’d gone out with John around every other day, practicing her accuracy, testing her over longer distances. She had to admit she was getting pretty decent, definitely better than she’d ever been with a gun, but it was probably nowhere as good as the other men. “John’s been teaching me well.”

He nodded, looking off toward the lake. “I need you for a job,” he said, getting right to the point. “Most everyone’s faces been seen with either the Braithwaites or O’Driscolls ‘cept you. Just need you to run distraction is all while I sneak onto some property.”

It had been a while since she’d played the part of distraction. She crossed her arms. She was going to do the job, obviously- the most exciting thing to happen in the past few weeks was when she’d somehow accidentally exploded a bird with a shot aiming for a bottle; she’d yelped and covered her mouth in horror while John laughed uproariously, looking at the puff of feathers drifting down from the sky. She just needed to get out, to do something, to earn her keep. “Who’ll I be occupying while you stalk about?”

“Just some security guards. Starting at the Braithewaites. If all goes well, we’ll stop at the Gray’s too.”

“What’s the job?”

He blushed deep red. “Playing messenger for two stupid kids in love.”

Effie stared, not knowing if he was serious, but the blush continued. “Didn’t figure you were the sentimental type, Mr. Morgan.”

“’M not,” he defended, rubbing his jaw. He’d long since shaved the beard that had grown while he was recovering from his injury, and now it was line with a thick layer of dark stubble. “Just, uh… something I said I’d do.”

“Alright, I’ll help. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

He nodded. He looked her up and down, which made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He wasn’t doing it in a threatening or predatory way, it was just… well, it was Arthur. 

“D’ya have any more… girly outfits?” He asked awkwardly. “No offense, Miss Elwood-“

She laughed. “None taken. Pretty hard to do any distractin’ while I’m dressed like a man. I’ll be right back once I’m all done up like a proper lady.”

She returned to her tent, where Tilly sat, chatting with Sadie. Effie approached them shyly, and they turned to look at her. She paused for a moment, then sighed.

“Can y’all help me look like a lady?” she asked reluctantly, now feeling foolish. Not reluctant to do the job, she was ready for it- more reluctant because as she walked over, she realized she didn’t really have any ladylike clothes. And she didn’t really know how to do her hair. Makeup, she didn’t even know. Living around men her whole life had caused those kinds of learning opportunities to escape her. 

Sadie gave that short laugh of hers, a smile spreading across her face. Tilly grinned at her as well. 

“You tellin’ me you need a makeover, Miss Elwood?” Sadie asked.

Effie huffed. “Well I’ve gotta distract some Braithewaite boys-“

“Ya ain’t gonna do it lookin’ like that,” Tilly snickered. “You look like a teenage boy wearing his pa’s clothes.”

“Thank you for your support, Tilly,” Effie said pointedly. She lifted her hands up in surrender. “Well, make me look like a pretty lady. Please.”

It was late afternoon by the time they were done with her. Karen and Mary-Beth also caught word of what was going on, and gleefully contributed some of their own items of clothing for the outfit. Soon enough there were skirts strewn about everywhere in the vicinity- some plain, some outlandishly fancy, obviously part of some high-end con. Mary-Beth kept asking her to try on more outfits while Sadie scolded her, saying that they needed to get Effie dressed quickly so she could go on the job, but also smiling and encouraging her to “try this one on instead, last one, I promise.” Karen did her makeup- Effie refused the lipstick outright to Karen’s disappointment, but let her put some charcoal on her eyelid and a little bit of rouge on her cheekbones. Tilly did some sort of complicated braided updo that Effie knew she would never recreate- she didn’t even know how to braid hair. Eventually the four of them stepped back to look at their handiwork. 

Effie stood before them, feeling like a dressed-up monkey. They had given her a pale pink skirt, embroidered with white lace at the hem that Effie knew she was going to get dirty within the next minute. That wasn’t counting the other skirts underneath that one- for layers? Shape? She didn’t understand the point, all she knew was that her legs felt suffocated in fabric. They had given her a white blouse as well, sleeves ending with ruffles, neckline cut much lower than she had ever worn, layered under a pale blue and white embroidered corset. She had to fight them to tie the corset loose enough so she could breathe. Draped over her shoulders to protect her from the coming chilly evening air was a pink shawl to match the shirt, which Effie had tried to drape more over her chest before Karen scolded her. 

The four women smiled at her, taking in the look. 

“Y’all are making fun of me,” Effie muttered, her face hot. “I look stupid.”

“You do not,” Tilly defended, getting up to tuck a stray hair in place. “On the bright side,” she giggled, “If any of those Braithwaite boys see you again they probably won’t recognize you.”

“How do you even walk in these shoes?” They had given her a pair of Karen’s, who had smaller feet than Effie expected. They were pretty, she had to admit, but far too narrow and pinching at the toes to be practical. 

“You don’t,” Karen replied, grinning. “Now get on, you proper southern lady, you.”

Effie waddled back to the horses- Sean whistled at her as she went passed, and she replied with a rude hand gesture in his direction- where Arthur was still waiting, smoking again. 

“Thought you said you’d be a minute,” he said. 

“Thought so, too, but I guess there is a lot about fashion I don’t know about.” She twirled on impulse, letting the skirts fare around her feet. She had to admit, it was a little fun to be dressed up, especially to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. The attention, too- usually Effie would hate it, try to make herself smaller, less noticeable, but at the moment it was nice. She felt pretty, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Well, you look, uh… nice, Miss Elwood.” He walked her over to her horse, ready to help her get on. Effie wanted to refuse, but there was no way she’d be able to pull herself up with all those skirts. And that corset. And that disarmingly low-cut neckline. He put his hands around her waist, lifting her up as if she were a child- he had big hands. Warm. Strong. At least if she was blushing, she could blame it on the rouge. 

The rode in relative silence most of the way there. It was dusty and humid, and all those skirts- they were so damn hot, how did normal women bear it? Eventually Arthur slowed his horse, his hand raised, signaling her to slow as well. 

“Up the road is the Braithwaite Manor,” he said, pointing, voice low. “You can’t miss it, it’s got a big fancy line of trees along the path to the house. There’s a gate, where there’ll be some armed guards.” He mimed a gate with his hands, pointing to where the guards were. It was an entirely ineffective visual, but Effie nodded anyway. “You’re going to ride straight past them toward the house.”

“Past the armed guards?” 

Arthur nodded, not seeming to see why it was illogical. “They probably wont shoot a fancily dressed lady such as yourself. Then you can use your womanly charms,” he paused for a moment, perhaps considering if Effie had any womanly charms to begin with, “or convince them you’re lost or somethin’, I dunno.”

“You don’t have a set plan for me to act out?”

Arthur shrugged and rubbed the back of his head. “To be honest, didn’t think that far ahead. Don’t usually have an accomplice like this.”

Effie pressed the bridge of her nose, her mind running through possibilities. “Alright. I’ll go bother them for as long as I can.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll be in and out quick. If you see any signs of trouble of if they uh,” he chose his words carefully, “start acting uncouth, just get out of there as fast as you can, don’t worry about me.”

Effie nodded in understanding. “It’s very sweet that you’re doing all this for a couple of young lovebirds,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. 

He bristled. “I ain’t no sweet man, Miss Elwood-“

“Effie.”

He blinked. 

“You’ve called me Effie before, Mr. Morgan.”

He looked at her. That cold look wasn’t there. “Alright, Miss Effie,” he said slowly. “See you on the other side.” 

And he rode off out of view. Effie turned Mattias to face the manor. Guards with guns. She hoped to god that they didn’t fire. One, because she wasn’t particularly fond of getting shot, but also because Mattias proved to still be skittish around gunfire; he’d bolted once after they’d forgotten to hitch him during shooting practice, and was so skittish another time that Effie resorted to borrowing Silver Dollar any time she went out to shoot. She patted him on the neck, slipped him an oatcake.

“Be on your best behavior, boy,” she whispered, and set off at a trot toward the manor.

It was easy enough to find, the manor with its road lined with trees, but Effie was astonished at how hauntingly beautiful it was. It was now creeping into evening and the grand trees shed long, dappled shadows onto the ground, the setting sun shining gold where it broke through. There she could see two armed guards were the path began, and there were more up at the gate ahead. 

Effie swallowed hard, praying for them not to shoot, and rode straight past the first pair. They said something to her as she approached, but she pushed it out of her mind, pretending not to hear, but then their voices raised.

“ _Hey! Woman! Stop right there!(/em >” _

_She rode further, trying to see how far she could get before things got sticky. The shouting continued behind her, and as she got closer to that second gate, she could make out four guards pointing rifles and shotguns at her._

_“Miss, stop your horse or we’ll shoot!”_

_Effie pulled Mattias to a stop, doing her best to look confused, leading him in a slow circle to look around. She definitely had the attention of all the guards on the road, and she could make out a couple faces in the fields turned her way. Nowhere did she see Arthur, and she took that as a good sign. She stayed in place and let the guards come to her to waste time; they approached cautiously, firearms still raised._

_“Miss, what is your business here?” One of them asked forcefully, his cheek pressed against the sight on his rifle._

_Effie thought of Tilly’s imitations of the high society women in Rhodes. “I have business with a young Mr. Braithwaite,” she said, letting her voice get high and airy._

_“Which one?” the guard barked, not lowering the gun._

_Shit. There were a ton of them that Hosea told her about, but she couldn’t remember any names. “Benoit,” she finally said. “Benoit Braithwaite.”_

_“Benoit?”_

_She nodded, not letting him question her further before going on. “I met him over at the Rhodes Saloon. Mighty fine gentleman.” She gave a romantic smile, or whatever she thought would be a romantic smile. It would have to do. “I was at the bar and well- he just took my breath away. We chatted for hours you see, but my father was waiting for me to come home, so he told me to meet him back here, ask for Benoit at the Braithwaite Manor-“_

_“Ain’t no one named Benoit Braithwaite,” the guard cut her off. The rifle lowered slightly. “Why are you here, woman?”_

_Effie put a hand to her breast, shocked, also drawing their eye to the low-cut blouse. A tingle went down her spine in disgust- this wasn't part of her usual bag of tricks, but she continued the act, trying to sound flustered. “Benoit Braithwaite? He does live here, he insisted, gave me directions, I was supposed to ask for him-_

_“Ma’am.” The guard lowered his rifle, rubbing a hand down his face tiredly. The other’s followed suit, snickering to each other. “There is no Benoit Braithwaite. You been done lied to ma’am-“_

_Effie was rifling through her memories, trying to think of something sad- something came up, but she pushed it away, that was too much, but it surfaced anyway- and Nate’s face appeared before her, looking up at her as blood spread below him, those eyes filled with panic and anger, staring at her helplessly as life escaped him. Yes, it was too much, but it was working, and Effie felt the tears forming in her eyes._

_The guard saw this, and stepped closer. “Ma’am…?”_

_Effie dramatically pulled out a lacy handkerchief, dabbing at her eyes. She sniffed. “But… sir, he said this was where he lived…”_

_The guards began to shift awkwardly now, not sure what to do with the emotional woman before them. “Uh, there there, ma’am-“_

_“I just feel so stupid,” she cried out, letting more tears come, burying her face in her handkerchief. “I can’t believe- I though he was the one- I thought…” She dissolved into tears, feeling the guard’s eyes still on her._

_A few moments later, he felt a hand pat her gently on the leg, and she looked down to see the guard again, looking extremely uncomfortable._

_“Ma’am, I’m very sorry for your predicament,” he said carefully, looking toward the others for support, not exactly believing what was happening at the moment. “But this is, uh, private property, and…”_

_Effie blew her nose and quickly wiped her eyes on the handkerchief, “recomposing” herself._

_“Of course,” she said huffily. “Gentlemen, I am sorry for disturbing your evening.” She turned Mattias to leave, and each of them took a step back to let her through. She looked back, making sure they got a sight of her ruined eyeliner and red eyes. “If someone comes by pretending to be Benoit Braithwaite, please send him my regards.”_

_The guard chuckled politely. “Will do, ma’am. We will walk you out, if you don’ mind.”_

_Effie nodded, letting the two armed guards from the beginning of the road lead her on either side as Mattias trotted slowly. She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief every few moments or so, for good measure. When the reached the end of the path, she gave them each a polite nod and began to trot away. She could hear their snickers behind her._

_She rode toward Rhodes, keeping an eye out for anyone following her, and when she was certain she wasn’t being pursued she met Arthur near the post office. The sun had fully set and the crickets chirping loudly in the late evening. Arthur was leaning against the wall, scribbling something in his journal. He closed it when he saw her coming._

_He looked at her quizzically, spotting the black streaks at the corners of her eyes. “You been cryin’?”_

_Effie nodded with a grin. “I did have quite the predicament. Man troubles, you see.”_

_Arthur snorted, looked pleasantly surprised. “Well, did the trick. You was still talking with them when I snuck back out. Didn’t notice a thing.”_

_She felt eyes on her, other strangers looking at this young woman, dressed fancy with that daringly low-cut neckline, and she pulled the shawls around her, covering herself. It was suddenly chilly._

_“To the Gray’s?” she asked, feeling suddenly shy._

_Arthur shook his head. “’pparently young Mr. Gray’s letter was quite- I don’t know, saucy maybe-“_

_“Saucy?”_

_Arthur blushed. “’Prolly not the right word. Anyway, Miss Braithwaite wants a night or two to write a proper response. So yeah, we done for the night.”_

_Effie sighed in relief. “Does that mean I can change out of these awful clothes?”_

_Arthur chuckled as they mounted their horses. “Yeah, but I must admit it would be a shame.” He closed his mouth abruptly, as if he hadn’t intended to say that._

_“Oh, yeah?”_

_Arthur sped up to ride in front of her, leading, possibly so she couldn’t see his face. “Jus’ the first time any of us have seen you all dolled up is all.”_

_Effie laughed. “Well it probably won’t happen again. You try wearing four layers of skirts.”_

_“I have, once,” Arthur replied, turning back, a bashful smile on his face. “Hosea made me when I was younger for a job.” He faced forward again. “Have to say I don’t make half as pretty as lady as you, Miss Effie.”_

_“Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” Effie responded coyly, but inside there was that twist of emotions again. She was going to fall for it again, that stupid trap she’d fallen for with Nate and was only just now realizing it. The bashfulness, the softness, the kindness- that had to be hiding the cruelty inside him. It had to. She would fall for it, and then she would end up hiding bruises, laughing off black eyes with a false smile- oh god, she had been so stupid to not see it. And those pitying glances from the other boys that she took as ignorance- damn it, they knew it too. How could he do it? How could Nate do those things, treat her that way, and she loved him all through it? She remembered what Sadie said, way back at the general store- it wasn’t her fault. How come she was only seeing it now? All those times she punished herself for making him angry, scolded herself for ruining things, stirring his rage toward her- she didn’t deserve that, and didn’t deserve the punishment he gave her, either. So stupid. Nate was a monster. Now she knew. It took so fucking long.  
And still, there was that part of her that loved him. And she hated herself for it. _

_She looked ahead at Arthur, his huge silhouette just ahead of her. He could be the same thing. She wasn’t going to fall for it. Not again._

_She told herself this over and over in her head, a mantra, until they reached camp again. She dismounted, only falling a little bit, ignoring Arthur’s outstretched arms to help her down. He looked confused for a moment, but she brushed by him, keeping in mind that icy glare. Not again._

_Effie changed back into her regular clothes, enjoying the feeling of letting her ribcage fully expand with air in the absence of the corset, her stomach now free from the pinching waistbands. Now that that pressure was gone, she as able to realize that she was famished, so she went to look for Pearson’s stew pot._

_It was plenty late now and many of the gang members had since eaten their own dinner and gone to bed, and the stew pot was empty. She stared into it while her stomach growled disapprovingly. Damn._

_Charles spoke up. He was at the table, crafting arrows under lantern light. The thin wooden shafts looked tiny in his large hands; it was a wonder he didn’t break them._

_“I have some rabbit left over.”_

_“If you don’t mind,” Effie responded as her stomach gurgled again. Charles stowed his materials in his satchel, making his way over to the campfire. He pulled out a wrapped-up chunk of rabbit meat, still bloody, placing it over the thin metal cooking grate. Effie sat cross legged next to the fire, enjoying the heat in the chilly night air, listening to the juices sizzle._

_“Heard you got all dressed up today.” The fire cast dark shadows over Charles’ face._

_Effie laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. You missed my debut as a proper Southern lady,” she said, putting on a bad Southern accent._

_He was studying her, light flickering in his eyes. “I can’t picture it.”_

_Effie shrugged. “I can go put it back on, if you feel like you missed out.”_

_He shook his head and turned the rabbit meat over. “No. Wouldn’t be right.”_

_She looked at him quizzically. His face was unreadable, as always. “How so?”_

_He pursed his lips together slightly, an almost imperceptible movement._

_“Doesn’t seem like something you’d feel comfortable in.” He tilted his head toward her without looking, a miniscule gesture to what she was wearing, the pants and dark blue shirt. “You seem happier like this.”_

_It was strange how he always spoke in that low, disinterested way, but then he would say perceptive things like this with the same tone. It was another weird opposite scenario, just like Arthur. Charles came off as cold, but on the inside…_

_“Here,” he said, spearing the meat with a knife and handing it to Effie._

_“Thanks,” she began to say, but he was already walking back toward the table, once again pulling out the arrow materials. Effie nibbled on the rabbit, her stomach tamed now, and watched him. He was gentle with the knife, delicate with his fingers as he handled the feathers. His hands had been steady and gentle when they had been working on Cain, even, as far as she could remember, when he was examining her broken arm all those weeks ago. Trying to cause her as little pain as possible._

_Effie leaned back, looking up at the sky. It was a clear night, the stars shining bright and clear. Not long ago, she had stared at those same stars, terrified on the man who slept beside her, in love with him. Not long ago she’d stared at them, tied to a tree, not knowing how much longer she’d live._

_Now she looked at those stars and felt nothing but calm._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all, thanks for your support!  
> (and hehehehehe get ready for some shit to go down)


	11. before the transformation takes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go for a short walk in a pretty down. Effie has a really bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a roll, y'all

Charles had been acting strange for a few days. Distant, but more so than usual. 

At first Effie thought she had said something, wanted to apologize, though she wasn’t sure what for. But then Mary-Beth made a comment on how he looked like he was waiting for something terrible to happen, and then Effie knew something was up. Lord knew Charles wasn’t the type to talk about his problems, much less talk about anything if he didn’t feel like it. Even if she tried, she doubted he would tell her anything- her presence was still new to camp, and it seemed like only a few people were ever able to get anything out of him anyway. 

She still kept one eye open through the next week or so of chores- laundry, watch, she even went hunting and shot a duck- but he was nowhere to be found. When she asked Arthur where he was, he just blinked stupidly.

“Something’s wrong with Charles?” he asked, completely oblivious. Effie had rolled her eyes and walked away. 

But he did show up again. And didn’t do much to settle her anxiety.

Bill, Sean, and Micah were getting ready to roll out to Rhodes, Arthur to meet them there. They were on a job for the Grays, business as usual. Effie was with Pearson, who was showing her how to properly skin a rabbit. She had brought him a few before that she’d skinned- or tried to skin herself, she _thought_ she was doing it right- and he’d taken them without so much as a word. This morning he’d called her over with a rabbit Charles had brought back early that morning when he finally rode back into camp. He’d then told her that she would never be allowed to have another bowl of stew before she could properly skin a rabbit without savaging it. 

Pearson was leaning against his cart, arms crossed and amused, when Charles approached the table. He had a pack slung over his shoulders, ready to head out again, but that wasn't what was concerning. His eyes were wild, a look she had never seen on him before. 

“Effie,” he said. It was already strange, because he barely said her name without a Miss or something else proper before it. 

She looked up, blood on her hands, trying to pull the skin off the rabbit in one go. It didn’t seem like it should work at all. Just pulling? The fuck. “Oh, Charles-“

He leaned over the table. He was really starting to unnerve her now. His hulking shoulders were tense, his fingers pressing into the wood surface. “Effie, this is urgent.“

“Go on,” Pearson said, wiping his hands on a towel. By the look on his face, he was unsettled, too. “You’re not off the hook yet, Miss Elwood.”

Effie wiped her hands on her apron and untied it, leaving it at the table. Charles grabbed her arm- another sign that something was wrong- and dragged her over toward the woods. 

“Charles, what-“

Charles looked around to see that no one was looking and held her by the shoulders, staring deeply into her eyes. The hair on the back of Effie’s neck stood up. It would’ve been almost an intimate moment, a position that she hadn’t picture herself in with anyone for a very long time if things weren’t so creepy.

“I need you to follow them,” he said. Voice low as always, but now tinged with something else. Fear? Nervousness? She wasn’t sure.

“Follow who?”

“Bill, Sean, Micah. Arthur.” His eyes flickered back and forth between hers. “I need you to follow them into Rhodes, keep an eye on them from a distance. Somewhere high. Don’t let yourself be seen.”

“Charles, you’re scaring me-“

His grip on her shoulders tightened. He looked panicked now, she realized, an emotion she never thought she’d see on him. 

“I have a feeling,” he said, “that something bad is going to happen. Dutch has had me on a job these past couple of days and I have to head back out right now, but-“ He clenched his jaw. “I just have a feeling.”

She stared at him and took a deep breath. Okay. She had a feeling that whatever was spooking Charles this badly was going to scare her three times over. “What do you want me to do?”

“Ride out to Rhodes. Find a tree or a hill or something high, just keep an eye on them through your rifle. If you see anything off, just-“

“I’m not that good a shot yet, Charles-“

“Effie.” His eyes were dark, bottomless pits. “Please.” She nodded silently, and he let her go, running a hand across his hair. “You need to go now, Effie. They're already gone."

She started walking backward, still nodding. He didn’t break eye contact. He was terrified. Charles- the one who’d been the most steady, the most consistent, the most reliable- was terrified and was asking for her help. He trusted her, she realized, trusted her with her rifle enough to protect his family- their family?- from something, she didn’t know what-

She was back at her pack before she even realized, grabbing her rifle and sawed-off shotgun, almost missing the object that was lying on her bedroll. She stopped, pulled out of the weird trance she was in- it was a hat. Not a derby, like Sean’s, but something more akin to a combination of Sadie’s and Arthurs, with a wide brim that rode low, covering the eyes if wanted. An envelope with her name on it sat on top of it. Hurriedly, she shoved the note into her pocket, picking up the hat and shoving it on her head- it fit perfectly- and started toward the horses without pausing. Kieran called out to her, probably asking where she was going, what was wrong, but she was already gone, pressing into Mattias’s sides. 

She rode quickly, hearing her pulse in her ears. What was she doing? She had no idea, no plan, except for to find a tree overlooking as much of Rhodes as possible and watching for something to happen. She didn’t know what to look for. There was that seed of doubt, that Charles was just being paranoid, and he was sending her out for nothing. She’d probably get a scolding from Hosea and Miss Grimshaw when she came back, tail between her legs, for going out without telling anyone where she was going, pulling a disappearing act like that. She was still at the point where they gave her someone to accompany her most places, whether it was because she was a woman or a former O’Driscoll or something, and riding out like this was going to test their patience. But Charles- she’d never seen him like that, never even imagined the possibility that he could be scared. And he was trusting her with this task. She had to trust him, too. 

She went around the outskirts of Rhodes, giving it a wide berth, before looping back down and approaching the church from behind. There was a decently tall tree just behind it, and the hill it was on overlooking the town would give her a good view. She hopped off Mattias, scrambling up the tree. Damn, it had been a while since she’d climbed a tree. Her arm was still barely strong enough to pull herself up but she did it, boots scrabbling against the bark, finding as much purchase as possible. Eventually she got up to a decent enough height and took the rifle from her back, breathless now. 

She spotted Bill’s horse first, that giant draft horse, and the rest of them immediately after. They were just leaning against the hitching posts. Bill, Sean, Micah. She could see the glint from Sean’s smile from there, white against the dusty colors of Rhodes. 

And then it was like she could hear again once the adrenaline settled down. There they were, just standing there, talking. Just like they always did back at camp. Waiting for Arthur, probably- she couldn’t see him just yet. Her heart still pounded from the exertion of climbing the tree. She was perched precariously between two branches, her back to the trunk. Damn, she’d gotten pretty high up. Potentially a little too high. She shook away the thought of how far away the ground was and brought the scope back up to her face. The boys were still standing there, just chatting. Casually. Nothing seemed to be unusual, there wasn’t anyone else around. 

She looked around the town, slowly. No. There wasn’t anyone else around. 

The feeling came back, the feeling that Charles must’ve had. There was no one else around. Not a soul, not a dog in the streets. Movement caught the corner of her eye- she jerked to see it, but it was Arthur, riding in, nothing unusual. But there was no one around. He dismounted by the boys, stopped to talk, grabbed a rifle from his saddle.   
There was no one around. Damn. Her pulse quickened. Charles was right. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong-

And then light reflected off something on the top of the sheriff’s office. 

Another scope, the rifle being held by a man dressed in drab clothes to match the roof. Pointed straight at the boys. Following them as the walked down the main road, Sean laughing, turned around to make probably some stupid joke- the rifleman adjusted his position, his aim, his finger twitching-

Effie pulled the trigger, surprising even herself, the recoil shoving her back against the tree. She would’ve been hurtling toward the ground if she hadn’t stretched an arm out and found a branch to cling to, almost dropping the rifle in the process, hanging on by her fingertips- shit, shit, _shit_ , what did she do-

The ringing in her ears from the explosion of her rifle dimmed enough for her to hear the gunfire echoing across the buildings of Rhodes, the barks of orders from- fuck, she couldn’t tell who- oh god, what if she didn’t pull the trigger in time? She couldn’t remember if the rifleman has shot just before her or at the same time, it was covered up by that rush of instinct; she raised the rifle again, to see what was happening, but then there was a sharp crack and bark exploded from about a foot or so above her head and she had to catch herself again. No, she hadn’t hit the rifleman, she knew now, and he knew exactly where she was. She had to get rid of him, she thought, before he finished her and went back for the boys. She focused on his head, inhaled, pulled the trigger on empty lungs. When she righted her sights again, the man lay motionless on the roof, a red stain starting to flow from where his jaw had been. She would’ve been proud of herself, but there were people coming from all over the place now- another on the roof, she fired again, hitting him in the arm, but there were more twigs snapping and bark falling around her. They’d definitely seen her now, aiming for her. She was a sitting duck, she had to get down-

She half-fell out of the tree, going far too fast, catching branches just in time, until her hand slipped. It scraped against the rough bark, taking skin with it. Another branch caught her in the calf, spinning her in midair. She landed on her back, the air rushing out of her lungs, and she lay gasping until another bullet hit the trunk of the tree with a crunch. She rolled away from the fire, enough so the crest of the hill would provide her some kind of cover, crawled further, small clouds of bullets impacting dirt following her- 

Mattias was nowhere to be seen. Fuck. _Fuck._ She hadn’t even hitched him. Stupid, stupid mistake. Lord knows where he’d bolted to, probably crossing the border to West Elizabeth by now. Effie kept scrambling, half crawling until the crest of the hill was above her and broke into a run, holding her new hat to her head. There was still gunfire coming from Rhodes, but she wasn’t going to be any help now- she sprinted in the opposite direction, the rifle bouncing across her back- 

_Shit._ What did she do? Did she just get all of them killed? Well, Bill and Micah she wasn’t going to cry over, but Arthur and Sean- oh god, did she start the gunfire? Was it going to happen anyway? She ran, all these thoughts rushing around in her mind.

Did she just kill them all?

She ran until she couldn’t hear the gunfire anymore, or maybe it had ended- everyone on one side was dead, but which one? She slowed, stumbling to look back toward Rhodes.   
She couldn’t even see it anymore. How long had she been running? Not too long, but the town of Rhodes sat directly between her and camp. 

Effie fell to her knees, chest heaving. Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Her legs ached, she could hardly breathe. She’d ripped a good patch of skin from one of her palms, and it oozed blood, the skin raw and pink. She ripped her bandana from her neck, wrapping it around her hand, clenching her teeth at the sting, and sat back on her heels, resting. 

She might’ve just fucked everything up. Sure, Charles had said long ago that this con, playing both sides, was going to go bad, but she was the one who pulled the trigger first, as far as she could tell. She drove her fist into the dirt. Fuck. Charles had trusted her with this one, trusted her with the boys, her boys now. What if she got back to camp and Arthur and Sean weren’t there, it was just Charles waiting for her, for them to come back? She pictured Sean with a dark hole in the center of his head-

Shit. She had to get back to camp. If they survived, with that many bullets flying someone was bound to be shot. They needed her help. She had to fix them, save them, put them back together. She wouldn’t be able to handle it if one of them died of their wounds before she got there, she was never going to let anything like that happen again. Effie pushed herself off the ground and started jogging. Not the way she’d came, from north of Rhodes- people had seen her from that tree, if her side lost, someone was probably looking for her, that was the first place they’d check. She started heading south, around the eastern side of Rhodes. She could go south, the cut back west; it was going to take forever, but she couldn’t go near Rhodes, it was a death trap-

She jogged, whistling for Mattias every couple of minutes, but he never showed. Shit. She should’ve listened to Kieran, spent more time with that horse- she should’ve hitched him, she was stupid for not doing that, knowing he’d bolt at the first sign of gunfire. Fuck. There was no one to blame but her for that one, no one to blame if she got back to camp too late. Effie gritted her teeth and pressed on, taking the long way home. She tried to concentrate on the ground before her, one stride at a time, trying not to think about what could’ve happened.

She stumbled to a walk once she figured she’d run south enough, still avoiding the town. Dust had settled onto the layer of sweat covering her body, and she stopped and leaned forward, trying to catch her breath. She wasn’t home yet. She had to keep going. She wiped off her face on her sleeve, only managing to get more sweat and dust in her eyes. She had to keep going. She pictured Sean again, his face half gone, still smiling, teeth white against red. She had to keep going. 

So she headed west. It was getting later again, the sun casting long shadows from the towering trees. The mosquitoes found her easily, following the smell of sweat. Still, she slogged on, god she was tired-

She barely heard the hoofprints until they were right on top of her. The horse reared, sending her staggering back. Two more joined to flank its side, and then three more, each holding lanterns to light the way.

“What do we have here?” one of them said with a thick southern accent. 

Effie panted, her throat dry, keeping her head low to hide her face. Shit. Shit shit shit. She didn’t know what to do, nothing was coming to mind-

The horses encircled her, lanterns lowering so they could see her. A hand snatched her hat from her head, revealing the bun that had been tucked beneath it. 

“You seem to be a long way from home, _miss._ ” 

She looked up finally. A man sat atop his horse, smirking. He was well-dressed, too clean to be one of the Lemoyne Raiders. She didn’t say anything, her mind racing, but it was futile. She couldn’t think of anything. She had to get back to camp, but she had to get away from this, first.

“Looks like she could use a bath,” one of them laughed, but another waved him off. 

“Leave her be,” the well-dressed one said, sneering down at her. “We gotta get back home, Momma’s waitin’-“

She heard a small voice that made her blood run cold. She thought it was in her imagination first, but then she heard it again, and she turned slowly, feeling like she was falling again-

“Aunt Effie?” Jack sat atop a horse in front of one of the men, his little eyes staring down at her. So small. So innocent. “Are you going to the party, too?”

Nothing made sense- Jack wasn’t supposed to be here- Abigail, where was Abigail, was she okay- her body was moving on its own and she drew the sawed-off shotgun from her hip holster, aiming it directly at the man with Jack, hearing the click of metal as each of them men drew their own guns. In the back of her mind, she imagined Sean smiling at that quick draw she’d just pulled off. 

Effie stood, still breathing hard, the man’s face in her sights. But there were guns pointed at her from every direction. And one held to Jack’s tiny head.

No one moved a muscle for a few moments. 

“Aunt Effie, what’s going on?” Jack asked, his voice wavering, sounding like he was about to cry. The man pressed the gun harder against the back of his head, forcing him to look down. 

No. That was Jack, that was Abigail’s Jack, that was their Jack, that was _her_ Jack- 

“Respectfully, miss, if you do not drop that gun we will shoot this little boy’s brains out, and then no one’s gonna be happy.” The well dressed one had dismounted and slowly walked around her in a circle, looking her up and down. He stopped directly in front of her, looking down the barrel of her shotgun. 

“What are you doing with him,” she asked though clenched teeth. Her hand shook. 

The man smiled. 

“Like he said, taking him to a party.” He stepped closer, the gun inches away from his face. 

Effie breathed through her nose, trying to stay calm. She was fucked. Everything was fucked. They had Jack, and they had a gun to Jack’s head- how could she have messed everything up this bad? God, they were going to kill her- she meant the van der Lindes, but that was if these ones didn’t beat them to it. 

“I recognize her,” one of them said. Her eyes flickered over to the voice. _Shit._ It was one of the guards from the Braithwaites, one of the ones she’d distracted for Arthur. “Came ‘round makin’ a scene, she’s definitely one of those van der Lindes, Gareth.”

Gareth. She remembered the name now, one of the Braithwaite sons. She was in deep shit. Some really, really deep shit. Her hand was sweaty against the handle of the shotgun. 

Gareth Braithwaite wrapped a hand around the barrel of the shotgun. She could fire. She could fire right now, leave him with a crater for a skull.

“If you don’t mind, miss,” he said calmly, smiling, tilting his head so Effie could see past him at the tears streaming down Jack’s face. There was nothing she could do. Effie let go of the shotgun, and Gareth dumped the ammo, tossed it to one of his guards. 

“What we gonna do with her?” one of them asked impatiently. “Your momma’s gonna get impatient if we wait around much longer.” 

Effie set her jaw, focusing her gaze on Jack. She had to keep him safe. She had no idea why they had him, but she had to keep him safe. 

“I suppose we could have some fun,” one of them offered. They laughed. 

She couldn’t go anywhere.

“That bath sounds real nice now-“

If they did anything to Jack, Abigail would kill her. 

“Think down there’s as dark as her head?”

She had to stay with Jack. She had to protect him. 

“She’s jus’ a little thing, will all those fellas she prolly get’s around-“

“Shut up,” Gareth snapped, cutting them off. “Willard, toss me that rope, will ya?”

“Good thinkin’, boss,” Willard replied, which roused more snickers. 

“Shut it,” Gareth said, snatching the rope from the air. He moved behind her, grabbing her elbows to get her hands behind her back, wrapping the rope tight against her wrists.   
“Momma’s not gonna like if we mess with the goods. Way I see it, we’ve got another present for Angelo Bronte.” A couple of them groaned, disappointed. 

Effie had kept her eyes on Jack. His cheeks were wet now, his lip trembling, trying to be brave, but he was scared now. So little and scared. 

“Jack, listen to me,” she said, her voice scratchy against her dry throat. “I’m gonna keep you safe, I’m gonna get you back to your mama-“

Gareth was shoving a bandana in her mouth now, tying it at the back of her head. It tasted like sweat and dirt. 

“Well, Miss _Effie,_ ” he said, turning her to face him. “Best way you’re gonna do that is by doin’ what we say, how’s that sound, sweetheart?” He raised a hand to touch her face, but Effie flinched away. He laughed, the led her to his horse, his hands around her waist. Effie revolted at the touch, but he lifted her onto the horse, then mounted it himself, his arms around her, caging her in. Gareth whistled. “Alright boys, let’s go home.”

They galloped off into the night.

They had Jack. How, she had no idea. But Jack had her, and she was going to keep him safe. 

But no one knew where she was. Charles was off on that job. Arthur and Sean might be dead, or dying without her help. And no one knew where she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for your kind words, I'm having a lot of fun here


	12. the blood lust tanks and the grave gets slaked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the massacre in Rhodes, the men regroup and figure out what they've lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL TODAY  
> also is this a point of view change? you betcha

They’d carried Sean back into camp after the fight in Rhodes, a blood-soaked shirt wrapped around his head. 

It had happened quickly; they’d barely had time to react before bullets were whizzing through the air. There had been two shots fired in quick succession from two different directions. A dazzling white light flashed in Sean’s vision, paired with a blinding, burning pain in the side of his head that sent him to the ground. Bill and Arthur were yelling and the air was thick with gunfire, but everything sounded muffled under the ringing in his skull. He clutched at his head, smelling his own blood, his hands warm and wet, that blinding pain that washed out everything else- he was vaguely aware of being dragged across the ground, someone shaking him, yelling in his face. His eyes focused and he saw Bill, exclaiming something out of relief when he saw Sean’s eyes open, the promptly turning around, guns blazing. 

It was a setup. Holy shit, if he hadn’t have jumped in response to that first shot, he’d probably have a nice ball of metal rattling around in his skull. He pushed himself up, hiding behind the crate that Bill had dragged him behind, but Bill was gone now, Sean didn’t know where he’d went. He put his back to the crate, pulling his hand away from his head, feeling immediately repulsed- it was as if he was wearing a thick red glove, he shouldn’t be bleeding that much, and pressed his hand to the wound again, feeling hot blood pushing against his palm. Most of his ear was gone, that was for sure. Was going to be a tough look to pull off. He was already an ugly son of a bitch, he thought, chuckling, his vision going spotty. Red hair and only one ear wasn’t going to pull many ladies-

Someone was yelling his name again, slapping him in the face. He didn’t remember closing his eyes, and it was hard to open them again. 

“Jesus fuck, he’s still alive,” he heard Micah say. 

“Takes more than that t’ kill Sean McGuire,” he managed to say groggily, tasting blood, and heard Arthur laugh in relief. 

He didn’t remember the ride back to camp, but he remembered someone dropping him off at Effie’s bedroll, Arthur yelling for her. Sean felt himself smile stupidly. She was gonna kill him when she saw him. Scold him, hopefully secretly thankful that he was alive somehow, but she would never say it. It was hard to see, and he became vaguely aware that something was wrapped tightly around his head- that was good, he had to keep his brains in there- and he pressed it against the wound, adding more pressure. He was lucky as hell that he still couldn’t feel it yet, he was gonna be bung upwards once the shock wore off. 

Shock, he knew that was bad; he tried to look about to find Effie, but he couldn’t see her. There was something going on over at the other side of camp, everyone was gathered in a group, talking to some suits. Sean tried to push himself up, go see what the ruckus was, but his limbs were jelly and his head was full of air and he figured he was probably best right where he was, waiting for Effie. He looked down and the blood on his hands, the blood he was smearing on her bedroll. He chuckled again. She was gonna be straight irate, squinching her eyes so little. She did that when she was mad. Wrinkled her nose, too. 

The hat he’d left her wasn’t there, neither was the note. She could probably pass straight for a bloke with that on hiding her hair. Sean wondered if she’d ever get dolled up again like she did a week ago, looking like a right little princess. Probably never, but it was fun to see it when it happened, her turning toward him flipping him off, her eyes narrowed, but the hint of a smile on her lips. Had that picture locked in his mind, he did. 

He was getting tired there, waiting for her. He wanted to lay down, but he would get so much blood on her things. He’d already gotten it messy enough already- wait, if there was blood on it now, he might as well lay down, right? Plus he was getting sleepy, and her bedroll looked so soft.

But then someone was grabbing his head, keeping him up, saying his name. 

“Effie?” he responded, woozy. He opened his eyes to see Pearson, though. “Oh. Ugh.”

“Oh shut up, you stupid idiot,” Pearson said. “She ain’t here.”

Not here? Effie was always here, ready to sew them all up. “Whurr’s Effie?”

“For christ’s sake, stop talking,” Pearson muttered, unwrapping the shirt tied around his head, immediately cursing when he saw the wound. “You’ve got to be the luckiest and thickest skulled bastard I’ve ever met.”

“Jus’ a wee scratch, Mr. Pearson,” he slurred. “Should see the other guy. Guys.” 

Someone else approached, kneeling. 

“He’s got to have the thickest skull I’ve ever seen,” Miss Grimshaw said, setting more rags on the ground. Rubbing alcohol. Catgut. Effie’s things. 

“Tha’s what he said,” Sean replied. He was in a thick fog. “Whurr’s Effie?”

“I do not know Mr. McGuire,” Miss Grimshaw said primly, “but when you see her you let her know that this isn’t supposed to be my job anymore. Pearson, can you wet this rag? I need to get some of this blood away so I can see what we’re dealing with.” 

He was getting really tired, and everything he could see was starting to look sort of reddish, like the blood that was on his hands, on the shirt, on Effie’s bedroll. He squirmed a little, trying to get off of it, he was getting it so dirty, she was gonna be so mad- but instead he fell into a deep sleep. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………..

 

A train heading into Rhodes had been stopped. Charles slowed Taima to a walk, trying to listen to the conductor and the station clerk. 

“Sounds like those Braitwaithes and Grays have finally gone for each other’s necks,” the clerk was saying. “Better wait it out, it’s a bloodbath-“

He had turned Taima around immediately. The job could wait. Technically, no, it couldn’t; the gang was going to be out five hundred dollars and Dutch would probably have his neck, but there were more pressing matters now. If the Braithwaite-Gray con had turned to the “bloodbath” category, things probably had gone worse than expected, so it was going to be all hands on deck for a little while. 

And he sent Effie out.

It was stupid, he thought to himself, pushing Taima back to Lemoyne. Stupid. She’d barely had any experience, he should’ve just gone himself, but he was too busy telling himself things couldn’t go too wrong, she’d handle it just find, ignoring that churning in his gut. Best he could do now was go back and help. 

He was approaching the town of Rhodes when he saw it. He didn’t hear any gunfire, that seemed to have cleared out now, but even from far away he could smell gunsmoke on the air. Best steer clear of the town, make a wide arc-

Then he saw that white mane. The palomino. Effie’s horse, Mattias. Wandering the hills aimlessly. 

He rode up to it- the horse started, spooked, so he dismounted and approached it on foot, calming it, taking it’s reins. Mattias was shaking. Charles put a hand on its neck to calm it, fished a sugar cube out of his satchel. Mattias refused. Charles remembered overhearing Effie ask Kieran how she could make the horse less skittish around loud noises. Was no wonder that he’d bolted as soon as the firing started. 

If Mattias was here, Effie couldn’t be far. She would’ve gone on foot, if she was lucky she’d probably have made it to camp by now. Charles looked around. The highest point in Rhodes was indeed that tree behind the church, she must’ve gone there. He could probably pick up her trail there, but there was no way he wouldn’t be shot on sight if he went into town. So back to camp. He could meet her there, or wait for her. 

The camp was in chaos. Kieran met him at the posts, taking Taima and Mattias’s reins immediately, seeming to be in a frenzy himself. People were running around, shoving things into boxes, preparing for a move. Dutch and stood in the center of camp, arguing. He didn’t want to get in the middle of that just yet. 

He went to Effie’s bedroll first, but it had already been packed up. Sean was propped up next to that cart, his head wrapped in sloppy but effective bandages, blood already seeping through. He was ghostly pale, even for himself, but the rise and fall of his chest told Charles he was still alive. He looked around- no Effie. Miss Grimshaw hurried past, barking orders, but he ignored her. 

He could almost feel John’s anger as he approached the quartet. His knuckles and face were white, lips pressed together, barely keeping himself contained. 

“She probably packed up and made a run for it,” Dutch was saying. “Probably run back to them O’Driscolls that she loves so much. Forget about her, we’re looking for _Jack,_ now.”

“What happened to Jack?” Charles asked.

“Some inbred Braithwaites is what happened,” Dutch spat. “And Arthur wants to go look for an O’Driscoll instead of a kidnapped little boy. Our Jack.”

“I ain’t sayin’ to forget about Jack,” Arthur fumed, his face scarlet. His drawl was much thicker when he was furious. “I’m just as mad as you are, Dutch. We’re gonna go and get him back right now and I will personally bring hell to whoever took ‘im, I will kill all of fucking Lemoyne if I have to. I’m tellin’ you somethin’ ain’t right- she wouldn’t leave jus’ like that, if people were gettin’ hurt-“

“And how do you know that?” Dutch said, stepping closer. “She wasn’t here when the shooting started? Where was she? Maybe she was the one that tipped them off!”

Arthur’s fists clenched, and Charles stepped in.

“She was in Rhodes during the shootout,” Charles said, pushing them apart. “I sent her.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened while Dutch’s narrowed as he regarded Charles. 

“And why would you do that?”

Charles set his jaw. He could feel his temper rising, and he pushed it back down. “I have been telling you for weeks that this was going to go bad, Dutch. I sent her as a lookout in case that day was today, which it was. If you weren’t so greedy trying to play both sides, this wouldn’t have happened.”

Dutch crossed his arms. “Well, if you’re so smart to send off one of our members on their own private mission, where is she now?”

Charles looked down, embarrassed. This was his fault. He should’ve just gone with her, he should’ve just gone himself. “I don’t know. Found her horse wandering outside of Rhodes.”

“Great, Charles, just great.” Dutch waved his hands in the air, frustrated. “Why don’t you leave all the planning to me next time, and maybe we won’t lose an O’Driscoll again.”

“She ain’t an O’Driscoll, Dutch,” Arthur interjected. He stepped in again, trying to reason. “Look, if Charles found her horse, maybe one of th’ Grays got her, we could ride out after we go get Jack back-“

“No,” Dutch said firmly, menacingly. “We are riding out to get Jack, who has been one of us his whole life. I am not risking our family’s lives to save one O’Driscoll girl. We almost lost dear Sean today because of those Grays. End of discussion, Arthur.” He stepped back. “Besides, if the Grays found her, they’re going to be angry about the mess you idiots made in town. She’s as good as dead anyway.” He turned back once more. “And Charles, you’re making up for that job you abandoned.”

Dutch stalked off, leaving both Charles and Arthur fuming. Arthur flexed his hands and curled them into fists. 

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, spitting. He turned to Charles, frustrated. “The hell’d you send her after us for?!”

Charles stiffened and looked him in the eye. It was his fault, but… he’d been partially right, hadn’t he? She was no stranger to violence. She’d run with the O’Driscolls, she was as good with a rifle as most of the men in camp. “She can take care of herself. You’d trust Sadie for the same thing.”

“That’s different, Charles.”

“In what way?”

Arthur pursed his lips. If his face could turn any redder than it currently was, Charles would bet he’d be blushing. He’d seen them down by water when they were still recovering, Effie with her nose buried in a book, Arthur sketching her when she wasn’t looking, occasionally making a comment to break the silence. It wasn’t flirting in any sense of the word as Effie seemed to be completely oblivious, but when it came to Arthur- well, that was something, at least. And when he came running after Charles when he thought there was a bear near camp- it’d been a while since he’d seen Arthur that worried. Plus the man didn’t spook easily- he could’ve handled a bear by himself, easily, probably getting scraped up in the process, but still. Charles couldn’t tell what it was- a little sister kind of thing, maybe something more, still in its early processes.   
There was a little part of Charles- a part that he normally pushed back, this life was shitty for any kind of lasting romance, John and Abigail showed that pretty well- that wished it was the former, that Arthur looked at her like a little sister. Because in him too were those little jumpy feelings sometimes, like when she coaxed him to do shots with her, or when she tried to dance with him, or touch his hair. He kept telling himself that it was drunk schenanigans, that there was no meaning to it. But a little part of him hoped, just a little, that… he didn’t know. He hadn’t had any kind of relationship with a woman in a long time so it was true- he really didn’t know what he wanted. He knew he didn’t want to mess it up, though, and it wasn’t like he knew how he was supposed to act, either.

“She’s one of us,” Arthur said finally. “Dutch told her to her face that he’d protect her, and I’m sick of Dutch’s act nowdays. I’m gonna make sure that happens.” He looked at Charles. “Will you ride with me?”

“Of course.” He had to right what he’d done, sending out Effie alone when it was too dangerous. It was irresponsible, thoughtless of him. 

A warm hand leaned onto Charles’ shoulder. “Count me in, fellas.”

Charles almost jumped when he turned to see Sean, his head wrapped with those bloodstained bandages, smears of red covering his clothes. 

“Shit, Sean,” Charles said, instinctively grabbing him under the arms to make sure he stayed upright. 

“’M gonna come save Effie,” he said, words slurring. His eyes were only half open. “Lemme ride, I’m fine-“

“Your head’s half blown off,” Arthur said, deadpan. 

Sean pushed Charles off him, trying to show he could stand upright by himself, but he swayed a little. “Jus’ another day for Sean McGuire, Art’ur Morgan. We’re gonna go get our Effie back.”

It was almost comical, Sean standing there, covered in his own blood, pale as a ghost, looking determined to take on the Devil himself. He knew that Sean had been not-so-subtly flirting with Effie, but he didn’t that this was how strongly he felt about her. Maybe it was a fleeting thing, Sean had always gone through women quickly. Charles pretended not to feel the seed of disappointment in his gut. But that didn’t matter, Charles thought, steeling himself. What he felt was probably nothing. Probably never going to happen. 

Arthur laughed and began guiding him back toward the wagons. “What’s gonna happen, Mister Headless Horseman, is you’re gon’ stay right here and not get the rest of your head shot off.”

Sean pushed back weakly. “O’ come on, I’m fine, I’m standin’ see?” He tried to do a gunslinger’s quick draw with his gun, fumbling a little. It was pathetic. “See? Good as always.”  
“You were never good to begin with.” Arthur took the gun and sat him town near a wagon that Miss Grimshaw was packing. “Miss Grimshaw, will you hit him with a frying pan if he stands up again?”

“With pleasure,” Miss Grimshaw replied, taking Sean’s gun from Arthur. “Do go find Miss Effie. I’m afraid this-“ she gestured to the bloody mess that was Sean’s bandaged head. “This is her job, now. I’ve got a camp to run.”

“Wait!” Sean put up a hand to stop them. It was caked with dried blood. His own. “Ye tell her… I say thanks. She saved my life, Arthur. Yours too.”

Arthur nodded solemnly. “Will do.” He turned to Charles. “Lets go get Jack back. Then we’ll kill some more Grays.” 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

 

They’d made a plan, to come back to camp before heading out to the Caiga Hall. Sadie had overheard the conversation and made it clear she was going to help get Effie back. This was pretty surprising to Arthur; Sadie, since the moment he’d met her, had been like a whip. Quick, angry, effective, and loud, especially when it came to the O’Driscolls. He’d heard about her giving Effie some trouble when she first arrived, but lately she’d been almost motherly toward her, making sure she ate enough, helping her take care of her rifle. Effie returned the favors, tending to whatever scrapes and cuts Sadie got, sewing patches in her clothes. Arthur didn’t really get what had changed for them to get along so well- it was probably some womanly thing he’d never understand, but it was good to see. Life in the camp was tough, especially for a woman, and especially for a woman that did man’s work. The two were good for each other, as odd a pairing as it was. 

Karen and Tilly approached as well, demanding to ride with them as well. He hadn’t realized Effie had made so many connections with the other women, especially strong enough that they would go to help her, which further proved to himself that he had no idea how women worked. He’d known John for years before he’d even thought of helping him out. Arthur had originally turned them down, but after some credible threats- “you are never going to be able to walk into another bar in Lemoyne, Mister Morgan, I have my ways”- he agreed to let them at least be lookouts, so long as they got the fuck out of there if things went really bad. Karen and Tilly finally agreed to those terms, and they decided to meet back at camp after the Braithwaites; it was far too dangerous for them to meet them at Caiga Hall with everything going on in town. 

The gang rode into Braithwaite manor, an unusual seriousness about them. No one was making jokes, or chatting along the way; it was stoic faces all around. Arthur rode next to John, whose face was stony and impassive. God, Arthur couldn’t imagine what he was going through. Losing a son, yes, he knew that, but he only knew it as if it were hitting him like a train, all the realization, the grief washing over in one go, knowing that there was nothing he could do about it until it had happened. But John… he could get Jack back, but there was the possibility of Jack slipping between his fingers, prolonging the nightmare. Or getting a changed Jack back, no longer the innocent little boy that chased a three-legged dog around camp. Or finding his tiny little body, doll-like and still. No, Arthur didn’t know that part. 

“We’re gonna find him, John,” Arthur told John, but the other man made no inclination that he’d heard. 

It was almost blissful once the fighting started, the images of Jack and Effie’s corpses chased away by the sound of gunfire and the whizzing of bullets missing him by inches. This what it was always like. As long as he was moving, his mind was calm, calculating, and it had a smoothness that he didn’t feel any other times, except maybe drawing. He was good at fighting, killing. He was good at being muscle. It was natural.

His actions at the manor passed in a blur of adrenaline, firing up the stairs, kicking down doors, shouting Jack’s name. He didn’t think of Effie at this time- now all he was concerned about was Jack, his eyes searching for a small figure, huddled behind furniture, being guarded by Braithwaite sons, but that figure never showed. He was vaguely aware of John beside him, increasingly frustrated and impatient, and they were a wicked team- unstoppable force, immovable object, both hell-bent on finding that little boy. Arthur wasn’t going to let John feel the pain that he had felt all those years ago. They destroyed. They murdered. They dragged the Braithwaite woman to the front of the manor, set it on fire as she screamed for her sons, dead by their hand. 

Arthur looked at the house, spewing black smoke. Only a couple minutes before, it had been pristine, filled with the family that had occupied it for generations. Now it was crumbling, bloodstained, empty. A ruin. Now that the rush was fading, a strange sense of guilt began to creep into his gut. He’d done that. He’d taken a beautiful house, a history- a long, bloody, wrongful history- and destroyed it without a second thought. Damn it, he was happy it burned. He was happy that those men were dead, the ones that did this to Isaac. No- damnit- he gritted his teeth, eyes watering from the smoke- Jack. He was happy he killed the men that took Jack and hurt his brother. 

He was a monster, a murderer, and he knew that. He had always been like that. It was himself in its most pure form. He looked up at the smoke blocking out the stars. Effie knew he was a monster. He’d made sure she did back at the hill. This was why none of his relationships- Eliza, Mary- never worked; there was some godforsaken reason that women would think he was a good man. He was far from it. He didn’t want Effie to think the same thing and watch her expression turn to disgust at him like Mary’s did.   
Arthur and Dutch stood above Catherine Braithwaite. She was beaten, yet still proud. She, in a sense, had won; Jack was not returned to their hands, but rather to a man they’d never heard of named Angelo Bronte. John’s face was darker than he’d ever seen it, the scars on his face shining in the firelight, just another reminder that his life wasn’t safe. His life wasn’t safe, and he’d passed that on to Jack like a disease. Just like Arthur had for Isaac and Eliza. They were both damned, the two of them, a dark shadow following wherever they went. 

They began to walk away, the burning house casting shadows in front of them, the darkness ahead enveloping the path. Arthur’s ears were still ringing from the news that Jack wasn’t there, but he was able to make out one more comment from Catherine Braithwaite. The old, skinny bitch. She still had one more goddamn thing over them. Because Jack wasn’t enough for her. 

“Good luck going on without your pretty little doctor to stitch you up.” She sneered when Arthur turned, confused, spat on the ground. Her tears marked white lines across the soot on her face. “That’s right. She’s long gone.”

Arthur was charging forward before he was even aware he was moving. “What did you do to her, you dried up bitch-“

Dutch was grabbing the back of his shirt. Catherine smiled. 

“You’re not gonna see her again, we made sure of it.” 

And then Dutch was dragging him away, muttering something in his ear, trying to calm him down- what did she mean? The bitch had to be lying- but how would they know about her? It couldn’t be right, the Grays had her, they had to-

“You lying bitch!”

Catherine stood up, newly motivated, a crazed grin spreading across her wrinkled face. “Effie Elwood, that little redskin slut? We had her too, but my boys decided to have some fun-“

Another palm on his chest. Charles. “Arthur, we need to go-“

Blood was pumping in his ears. No. That couldn’t be right. Effie was with the Grays, the Grays had found her after the bloodbath in Rhodes, she was lying-

_“-and ooh, she screamed-“_

His hand went to his revolver, he was going to shut her up real good-

“Arthur.” Charles grabbed his face, made him look down. The look in Charles’s eyes had to be the same as his, confused, angry- “the law, Arthur, we need to go.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Charles pushed him back a few steps. “I know, Arthur, but that’s not going to do anything now. I know.”

There was that feeling again. The loss hitting him like a train. 

Nothing he could do would’ve stopped it.


	13. my mind has changed my body's frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sup, Bronte.

Effie was exhausted. 

Gareth and his men had taken them to the Braithwaite manor, down the long, tree-lined path where she’d been only days ago. It was beautiful in the moonlight, the branches shining silver now instead of gold, giving the whole area an ethereal presence. 

An old woman was waiting for them at the foot of the house, arms crossed, dressed in an ornate dark gown with puffed shoulders. Her cheeks were pulled in, as if she were constantly tasting something sour. She reminded Effie of the evil old witches and hags that her father had told her stories about when she was very, very young. She nodded respectfully as they arrived.

The men began to dismount. Gareth lifted her down from the horse, his hands a little too high to be on her waist, and Effie stiffened. He pushed her forward, toward the old woman.

“I see you have the boy,” she said, sneering. “What else is this?”

Gareth pushed Effie forward. “An extra gift for Mr. Bronte.”

The woman looked her up and down, nose wrinkled in disgust. “I don’t expect that he will be very… impressed.” Bitch, Effie thought.

“She’s a van der Linde.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What is your name, girl? Speak.”

Effie gritted her teeth and looked at Jack. Jack was the one they were interested in, clearly. She had to stay with him, for Abigail, keep him safe. Presumably if she made herself seem valuable, they would send her with him. She looked at Gareth pointedly, and he removed the gag from around her neck. “Effie Elwood. Gang doctor.”

“Quick answer,” the woman sniffed. She gave her another long, calculating look, then turned to Jack, her arms still crossed. “Boy, who is this woman?”

Jack stood at the feet of one of the other men, whose hands were clamped on his shoulders. He looked very small. He wasn’t crying anymore, but he looked like he was wishing himself to disappear. 

“Aunt Effie,” he said in a small voice. 

“Hm. And what does she do?”

Jack looked at her, unsure of what to do, and Effie nodded. 

“She fixes things,” he answered, sniffling. “She fixed my dog.”

The old woman contemplated for a moment. 

“Fine,” she said. “Get them to Angelo Bronte. The rest of them should be here soon, if they weren’t all shot down by the Grays.” She scoffed. “At least that family can do one decent thing.”

They cut the bonds on her wrists and pushed her toward a waiting stagecoach with the tips of their rifles. Jack sprinted out of the grasp of the man holding him toward Effie, grabbing at her pant leg. She scooped him up in her arms without hesitation, him wrapping his arms around her neck. She wasn’t going to let him go.   
Jack fell asleep on the stagecoach ride, his head in her lap, as Effie forced herself to stay awake, keeping an eye on the two guards seated across from her. These two weren’t Braithwaites, she noted; too nicely dressed, the guns too shiny. The hair too shiny, too- lots of pomade. City boys. They stared back at her, especially where her sweaty shirt clung to her body, and Effie hunched her shoulders, trying to hide herself. 

She felt horrible. She didn’t know where she was going. No one knew where she was, never even mind Jack. She felt knots in her chest when she thought about Charles, who sent her into Rhodes, and now she was missing. Could almost picture that stoic face flinching, trying to figure out what happened, blaming himself. It wasn’t his fault. Effie had gotten herself caught by the Braithwaites. What was her fault too was whatever happened to Arthur and Sean. Bill and Micah, she didn’t really care. But those two- she remembered Sean walking ahead of the group in Rhodes, turning around to tell a joke. That might’ve been the last joke he’d ever told. Her heart felt like it was crumpling into itself. The rifleman on the roof. He had shot right after her, more maybe before, she couldn’t tell- what it she had been too late? Or had pushed him to shoot? The barrel was aimed right at Sean, she tried to put that image out of her mind, but it was there. Sean was probably dead, and it was her fault. Then there was all the firing after, too; maybe Arthur didn’t get out, either. A rewind of what happened in Rhodes kept playing over and over in her mind, and she kept searching of what she could’ve done to save them, possibilities overlaying in her mind until everything was getting muddled except for one thing- she’d really fucked everything up.

It was morning when the coach stopped, and the guards gestured for her to get out. Her eyes strained against the bright sky outside, even though the morning sun was shadowed by a thick layer of haze. Her head hurt from dehydration and exhaustion. She nudged Jack awake, and he rubbed his eyes. 

“Where are we, Aunt Effie?”

“Shhh.” Effie peered out of the stagecoach. A huge manor waited outside, the lawn full of lush greenery. It was the largest, grandest house she’d ever seen, five times that of the Braithwaite manor. They were at the residence of someone rich. And powerful. “Stay by me okay, Jack?”

He nodded nervously. “That’s a big house,” he whispered, his eyes wide.

“Yes, it is.”

Jack hopped out of the coach, and Effie followed. She almost fell flat on her face- all the running she had done the night before had taken its toll, and hours of sitting in the coach had allowed them to settle into a bone-deep soreness. One of the guards caught her arm when she stumbled, and she snatched it away instinctively. Jack held his hand out to her, and at first Effie didn’t understand what he wanted. She took it, and he walked aside her, squeezing her fingers tight. 

I’m all he has right now, Effie remembered, and tried to ignore the pain in her legs. She had to be strong for Jack. For Abigail. For Arthur and Sean and Charles.

The house was just as lavish on the inside as the outside, if not more. The guards led them through hallways, polished wooden floors beneath their feet. Maids in black and white uniforms stood in the doorways, looking at them with pity on their face. Effie became uncomfortably aware of how much of a wreck she looked, how badly she probably smelled. Here she was, smeared with dirt and dust and sweat, while their uniform whites were spotless, the pleats in their shirts carefully ironed. 

Effie pulled Jack closer to her, following the guards as they shepherded them to a large sitting room. An ornate rug covered the entire floor, intricate designs woven into it. It probably cost more money than Effie had had in her life. A dark hair man lounged on a sofa, smiling at them as they walked in. He wore a red smoking jacket, a strange unbrimmed hat on his head. His grin didn’t reach his dark, intelligent eyes. Her reminded her of Dutch, and Effie pressed Jack even closer, her hands on his shoulders so that he was against her legs. 

“Sit, sit,” the man said, voice thick with an accent she’d never heard before, gesturing to the couch across from him. It had a polished wooden frame, lush cushions thick with embroidery. Effie glanced down at it. 

“With all due respect, sir,” Effie said slowly, keeping Jack close, “I do not wish to soil your furniture.’

He laughed. “Do not worry about the furniture, it can be replaced. Sit.” Effie sat warily, pulling Jack into her lap. Her arms around him, guarding him. He gave her a once over, and her grip on Jack tightened. “Those Braithwaite savages. I’ll have someone draw a bath for both of you immediately, give you a change of clothes. You’re to be comfortable here.”  
Effie’s stomach turned. There was something strange about him, something chilly in his smile. She was out of her element, wildly. She didn’t know what to do. The men talking their business- god it wasn’t real business, it was all lying and false promises and smiles over threats- she didn’t know how it worked. It was a dance, she didn’t know the steps. Just keep Jack safe, she told herself. That’s the most she could do. The best she could do. The only thing, really.

“What do you want with us,” she said. A statement more than a question. 

“Oh, Miss-“ he paused, waited. 

“Elwood. Effie Elwood.”

He nodded. “Miss Elwood, I am terribly sorry that you have been dragged into this. The boy we paid for-“

A chill went down her spine. Paid for? They paid for a little boy? Was it just part of that strange business game, or something different? Jack squirmed in her arms, letting her know that she was squeezing him too tight. She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight, especially not alone with that man. 

“-but you were a surprise. Now.” He gestured with his hands often when he talked. “We do not mean you any harm. You are simply pawns in a very… intricate game. Having you will allow me to negotiate with Mr. van der Linde, and harming what he wants will not make business any easier. So.” He clapped his hands, leaned back. “You are my guests. You will eat of my food, enjoy my luxuries as you see fit.” 

His eyes flickered between Effie and Jack. His smile had too many teeth. 

“How long?” Effie asked. 

He spread his hands. “Until Mr. van der Linde and I can come to an arrangement.”

Effie swallowed nervously. Again, this side of the outlaw life wasn’t something she understood. An arrangement? Probably payment through favors or something, she guessed. She looked at Jack, who was staring at Bronte with pressed lips. 

“Jack stays with me at all times,” Effie said.

A muscle in Bronte’s cheek twitched. “Now, Miss Elwood, I was certain you would enjoy some privacy-“

“Respectfully, Mr. Bronte,” Effie interrupted, speaking carefully. She was squeezing Jack too tight again, she knew it. “I would prefer our stay here to be peaceful as well. But, if the boy is not with me, I will make things more difficult.” His eyes narrowed. “You can punish me all you like, but I’ve been through hell before, and I know Dutch won’t take too kindly to damaged goods. I don’t want to interrupt whatever business relationship y’all are making. The boy stays with me, and we will be perfect, polite guests, Mr. Bronte.”

He smiled at her politely, almost more of a grimace. “That can be arranged, Miss Elwood,” he finally said. He turned to one of the maids. “Miss Treacher, could you move another bed into young Jack’s quarters?”

The maid, one of the more senior ones, nodded, bringing a few more to help her. Bronte turned back to Effie and Jack. 

“Well, Miss Elwood.” He looked her up and down again, making note of her men’s clothing. “I expect you to be a proper southern lady during your stay.”

“I will try my best, Mr. Bronte.” 

He sniffed. “I expect you both to join us for dinner once you’ve cleaned up properly. I look forward to getting to know my guests this evening. Miss Abbot, could you show them to the bath?”

A younger, blonde maid nodded and looked at Effie expectantly, wrinkling her nose slightly. She probably didn’t see many people like her, dressed as a man, stinking to high hell. Not in this house, at least. 

Effie stood, getting Jack to his feet as well. She nodded at Bronte. “Thank you, sir.”

Miss Abbot led then upstairs to a washroom with a tiled floor. The stairs were a burden, her legs screaming in protest with each step, but she gritted her teeth and continued, leaning heavily on the railing. The tiles were cool beneath her feet, shiny and white. In the center of the room was a large porcelain bathtub, another maid sitting on its edge, testing the water with her fingers. 

Jack’s eyes widened when he saw the thin layer of steam rising from it, and he ran over, dunking his hand in the water. 

“It’s warm!” He exclaimed, smiling back at Effie. The maid sitting on the tub’s edge smiled down at him. Effie didn’t like that smile. The smile that said she knew a better life than what Jack had, the layer of pity underlying it. 

“Yes, well, let’s get cleaned up.” 

She let Jack stay in the tub until his fingers and toes were pruny, and he’d even wanted to stay in longer, enjoying the warm water, even though his skin was turning pink. She wrapped him in a big, fluffy towel and looked around. The maids left two piles of clothes on a chair near the door. She handed Jack his pile, sent him behind the changing screen so she could get clean, too. 

The water was only lukewarm by the time she got to it, but it was still a warmer bath than she’d ever had without paying twenty-five cents. The dirt and grime drifted off of her, staining the water. Effie dunked her head underwater, enjoying the warmth and silence. It was nice. This place. The bath. Felt nice on her aching legs. She could stay in here forever, fall asleep. But her stomach was tied in knots. It was almost like when she’d first arrived at the van der Linde camp. She didn’t know her future. She didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t see the next few days in front of her. Bronte had promised them safety, comfort, and that’s what they had seen so far, but it couldn’t be right. That disappointment when she demanded to stay at Jack’s side. That couldn’t have been an accidental movement. He was a snake. So many of the people in this business were.   
Effie surfaced, scrubbing quickly, finishing up, wrapping herself in a towel. It was warm, fluffy, one of the softest things she’d ever touched. She shooed Jack from behind the changing screen stifling a laugh as he emerged. He was dressed in a tiny suit, britches ending at his knees, high socks, shiny leather shoes. He looked like one of those rich little boys, one of the ones that lived in the big ranch houses whose fathers bought them racehorses that they couldn’t ride. It was funny, knowing that his father had probably robbed men like that. 

“Do you like your outfit?” Effie asked from behind the screen. She looked down at the pile of clothes that was left for her. Oh, god. Not this shit again.

“It’s kind of hard to move,” Jack said, but he didn’t sound annoyed. “It smells good. Like soap.”

Effie buried her face in the towel, squeezing her eyes. God, it was so soft. Smelled like soap, too. She wanted to sleep. More than anything, she wanted to sleep, she’d been awake over a whole day, run so far. Failed at whatever the fuck it was she was supposed to do in the first place. She had to keep pushing on. For Jack’s sake, for Abigail’s, for John’s.   
This time it was Jack who laughed when Effie emerged from behind the screen. They’d given her a deep green satin dress with a tight waist and puffed shoulders, lace lining the high neckline and sleeves. The fabric grew cold where her wet hair touched it.

“You look like a princess from my story book,” Jack giggled.

Effie did a twirl, hoping a grin with suppress the exhaustion she was feeling, and he laughed. “Do I look nice?”

“I guess,” Jack said. “But you usually wear pants like Aunt Sadie.”

Effie squeezed her hair with the end of her towel, trying to dry the ends. “Yes, well. I guess we’re trying new things today.” 

“Mister Bronte told us we were going to have dinner.” Jack kicked the ground with one of his shiny new shoes. “Do you think he’s going to make us stew like Mr. Pearson?”

“Maybe.” 

It wasn’t stew. It was something that looked like worms, covered in something that looked like blood. 

Effie and Jack had descended the stairs, Effie most uncomfortably, as the fabric of the dress was stiff and didn’t move easily, and the shoes they’d given her were like Karen’s, the ones that pinched at the toes and had a bit of a heel. It didn’t help that her legs nearly collapsed from under her as she tried to go down the stairs, almost tumbling but catching herself on the bannister. She waved off one of the guards that started up the stairs to catch her. She was fine. This house was full of snakes, and she couldn’t slip up, especially when she needed to protect Jack. Her being tired was just going to have to wait. 

They were seated at the end of a very long rectangular table, Bronte at the other end, sipping a white wine, lounging in his seat. 

“You cleaned up very nicely, Miss Elwood,” he said. 

Effie adjusted her dress in her seat. One of the seams at her waist was pushing into her stomach uncomfortably. She had no idea how normal women wore this kind of thing all the time. “Thank you very much, Mr. Bronte.”

“And young Jack, you look a proper little man,” he added, beaming at Jack, but the smile once again did not reach his eyes.

Jack smiled back, and Effie tried to keep her face neutral. 

Bronte clapped his hands twice, and maids emerged from another doorway, presumably from the kitchen, carrying plates with silver domes on them. A small cloud of steam puffed into the air as they removed the covers, revealing the meal underneath. Effie stared down at it. It smelled like food and spices, but it didn’t look like it at all. It looked like… she didn’t know. The inside of something, maybe. Worms kept popping into mind. She glanced over and saw Jack making the same exact expression she had probably been making.

Bronte was smirking at them. “It’s an Italian dish. From my home.” Effie looked at him dubiously, poked at it with a fork. The things were definitely not worms. “It’s called spaghetti.”

“That’s a funny name,” Jack giggled. 

Effie stuck the tines of her fork in the red stuff, licked it. It was tangy, spiced, tasted like tomatoes. She didn’t like tomatoes. They were hard to come by, and Effie was never sad about that. She tried picking up the wormy things with her fork, but they slipped away just before she brought it to her mouth, flicking a bit of the sauce on her face. A maid handed her a napkin as she wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. Jack was watching as Bronte twisted his fork vertically, looping the strands around the tines, then shoving the whole stringy blob into his mouth. The boy tried to do the same, having to use two hands to wind the fork. Begrudgingly, Effie did the same and ended up not flicking sauce all over her face. 

“It feels funny,” Jack exclaimed, shoving another forkful into his mouth. “It-“

He was interrupted by a clang of metal on porcelain. Effie blinked rapidly. She’d dropped her fork on her plate, her arm slumping, sleeve landing in the sauce. What had just happened? She turned her wrist, seeing the dark green sleeve now dark with red. Her mind panicked for a moment, seeing the color against her skin until she registered it was just spaghetti. 

“Miss Elwood, are you alright?” 

Bronte was looking at her, eyebrows raised. Jack as well, fear in his little eyes. 

“I- I just-“ She struggled to compose herself, her mind foggy. She glanced down at the sauce on her sleeve again. Her first thought was that she was poisoned. He’d put something in that sauce, trying to kill her. Her mouth felt dry. What had he done to her? “I apologize, Mr. Bronte. It has been a long day.”

When she looked up at him, she was startled to find him looking genuinely concerned. He gestured to one of the maids, who immediately fetched a pitcher of water, handing Effie a glass. She sipped, surprised for a moment- the water was cold, they had ice, and it was delicious. 

“Miss Elwood, would you like to be excused?” 

Effie shook her head, still drinking. No. She was fine. She imagined Charles standing behind her, steady hands on her shoulders. Keeping her strong. Keeping her stable. Encouraging She had to stay, look after Jack. 

Bronte sighed. “Miss Elwood, you seem to have the notion that I am here to hurt either of you. I do insist, I do not have that ulterior motive.” He leaned back, sipping his wine. “I want to make a business connection with your associate, Mr. van der Linde, and I cannot do that properly without making sure my guests are cared for.”  
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Bronte, but I am really just fine.”

He studied her, and Effie smiled politely back. She was fine, he had to know that. Bronte waved Miss Abbott over, whispering in her ear. She couldn’t make out what he was saying. Miss Abbott straightened, nodded, began gathering Effie and Jack’s plates. 

“We will have a nice conversation over dinner another night, Miss Elwood, young Jack.” He set his own napkin down on the table. “It was foolish of me to deny you rest after your busy day. I will have your meals sent with you to your room.” 

Effie stared at him. What was he playing at? She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, his face unreadable. As soon as the maids began to gather up their meals, though, exhaustion hit her like a wave again, and she nodded. This time when one of the guards offered an arm to help her up the stairs, she took it, the used-up muscles in her legs defiant against working properly.

The room was simple, but still bigger and more expensive than anywhere she’d ever stayed. Two beds were ready-made with soft quilts, fluffy pillows. A dresser at the foot of each bed held a nightgown for her and striped blue pajamas for Jack. 

Effie and Jack finished their meals at a small table the maids had set for them, Effie completely abandoning any manners, her head propped on her elbow while she lazily twirled her fork in the spaghetti, wishing to sleep but wanting to make sure Jack ate something. 

“Do you think Mom has ever had spaghetti?” He asked, once again using two hands to twirl her fork. 

“Hmm. I don’t think so.”

He shoved the noodles it his mouth, a stray one flopping off the fork and spattering his cheek with sauce. Effie dabbed at his cheek with a napkin. 

“Is Mom gonna come stay here too? I think she would like it.”

Effie’s heart twisted. “I don’t think so, buddy.” 

“Oh.” His face fell. “When am I gonna see her again?”

“I don’t-“ her voice cracked. “I don’t know, Jack. I know your papa and Uncle Arthur and Uncle Dutch are going to be here soon to take you home.”

His nose wrinkled a little bit. “This is a lot nicer than home.”

Damn. Undoubtedly, this was a much nicer life than Jack had ever seen. The camp had always gone out of their way to provide for Jack, bringing him candy, books, taking him out fishing or on horse rides. But this kind of living was something they’d never be able to give him. 

“Well, you can tell them all about it when we see them again,” Effie offered. 

“Okay.” Jack nodded to himself, yawned. “Can I have the rest of your spaghetti?”

Effie looked down. Jack’s plate was nearly spotless, hers still with a hefty serving. She slid her plate over to him. Growing boy. 

“You like that stuff, huh.”

Jack nodded, getting his face messy again. “Even though it looks like worms.”

Effie chuckled. “That’s what I thought, too.”

Jack finished up the rest of her food and yawned big, stretching his arms out. Effie helped him into his pajamas, tucked him into bed, got into bed herself. Her body immediately felt heavy, like she was sinking into the soft mattress, like she would be enveloped in it immediately. 

She fell into a deep, deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind words!!!


	14. my heart's aflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sean and Charles make plans. Effie is pissed off. Arthur takes a bath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shoite i got this chappie out quick

Everyone was in a sour mood. 

Jack was gone. Effie was dead. The Pinkertons had caught their scent.

The last time they’d had something like this happen was Blackwater. 

Charles couched by the edge of the water, watching dragonflies skim by. It felt like he was breathing water with all the humidity. The mosquitoes were eating all of them alive. Lenny had almost stepped on an alligator earlier that morning. 

He didn’t really have any positive thoughts. 

At least they had a chance to get Jack back. As far as he knew. Arthur and Dutch had gone into Saint Denis, scouting for whoever Angelo Bronte was, but that was days ago and they’d received no news. It was a sick sort of hoping, knowing that Jack was probably still alive but was in the hands of someone dangerous. His spine tingled uncomfortably every time he caught the sound of Abigail crying, and he wanted to just… get out of there. 

Maybe now. Maybe now was the time to leave. Going off on his own was always at the back of his mind, always nagging. He’d been telling himself that he had only stayed as long as he did because of the money, the opportunity; these people, he didn’t need them, he could go on without them. Why was he still here?

He imagined Effie there at Shady Belle, reaching up to touch the Spanish moss, wandering the swaps with the legs of her pants rolled high, a yelp of surprise when she saw a gator, or one of those huge snapping turtles, dragging one of them over to come see. Sitting down at the dock with one of her books in the early morning. Bringing him herbs and plants to identify. Complaining about the heat, being sweaty all the time, the incessant buzz of insects. He wouldn’t get to see that, hear that. 

He picked off a large splinter from the edge of the old dock, chucking it into the water. It left a dark circle in the layer of green algae on the surface. The water rippled against the shore, covering it back up with a layer of slime. A hole, closing off. 

The dock creaked and shook a bit as someone else sat down next to him. Charles held his breath.

“’Ello.” Sean’s voice.

Charles breathed out slowly. Not exactly what he wanted right now. Or ever. Sean’s incessant yapping. Man never shut up. He had been quieter since Rhodes, though. He’d lost the majority of an ear, chipped his skull, left with a gash from his temple to the base of his head. They weren't really sure what to do about the skull thing- it was more of a question for a surgeon or something, but with Effie gone and Sean still walking and talking, the best they could do was assume it wasn't a problem. They couldn’t stop him bleeding for the first couple days, the cut too deep, not enough skin to stitch together. They needed Effie. The way she coached him through fixing up Cain without even touching the animal itself, she could do it. 

“Shitty morning,” Sean added. They’d had to cut his hair, too, leaving it shorter than his usual style. He’d protested, but Grimshaw was having trouble finding where the cut started and stopped without all the red hair in the way, so she’d taken some scissors and chopped it off- although Charles had a suspicion that she just hated his hair and was happy for a reason to get rid of it. 

Charles grunted in response. 

“Charlie! You wanna go out, get a drink or somethin’?” 

Charles looked at Sean. He looked insane, white bandages wrapped around most of his head, little spots of red where the gash still wasn’t closing, red hair sticking out every which way, his good ear poking out. Not to mention the sunburn, adding even more red to his person. 

Charles turned back. “No. And don’t call me that.”

“Aw, come on.” Sean scooted up closer to him. “You all just need to cheer up. Everythin’s gonna be fine.” Sean smiled at him, wide, but there were no lines at the corner of his eyes. It was strange- he looked empty. And he was always the ones cracking jokes through the worst of it. Hell, he’d been laughing even as they’d cut him from hanging upside down after Blackwater. “Come on, friend. I just wanna get right drunk for a night, away from here, you know?”

 

“Not really.” He didn’t want to lose grip on his mind right now. That, and he knew Sean was inevitably going to get more drunk than he was. That’s how it always went- Charles was always the most sober one of the group, always ending up taking care of people, backing them in fights he didn’t need to have any involvement in. 

Sean huffed, was silent for a minute. 

“Come on, please,” Sean said, more quietly. “I’m goin’ crazy here, I jus’ cant stop thinking is all.”

Now it was getting weird, seeing Sean like this, and he was sure it wasn’t because Jack had been kidnapped. If it were only that, he’d undoubtedly be trying to cheer everyone up, trying too hard, even. Charles knew he’d been flirty with Effie, but he was always flirting with just about everyone. He didn’t know Sean was in the same place he was.

Or at least where Charles might be. It was still confusing, even more so now that she was gone. Maybe it was just that she was kind, and didn’t feel the need to talk if silence was enjoyable, or that she would always seem to want Charles as part of the group. Even if he didn’t want to be. Maybe it was just a fleeting thing, a sparked interest because she was something new, something fresh in this life that seemed to be the same wherever he went. Or maybe it was easier to live with if he convinced himself that it was just passing infatuation, not something that deep down, he wanted more from. 

Charles cleared his throat. “Didn’t know that was something you did to begin with.”

Sean clapped him on the shoulder. Charles grimaced. “Oh har har, Mister Smith. Always the funny one. Exactly why I’m comin’ to you to go get a drink.”

“I just assumed everyone else said no.”

“Har har, you just keep ‘em comin’.” He paused for a moment again. “No, it’s jus’ you don’t talk too much. Jus’ wanted to- er…” He sighed. “Jus’ wanted to forget it for a moment.”

“Forget what?” Sean flicked him on the ear. “Ow.”

“Shut up, this is the opposite of why I wanted to get a drink wit’ ye, ye giant moron.”

Sean wanting silence was new. Sean wanting to drink in silence was even newer. 

Charles sighed. “Where is there even to go?”

Silence. “Dunno. Didn’t think that far ahead.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “There’s Pinkertons crawling around. I think an Irishman with half a head will stand out.” 

Sean blew a raspberry. “No fuckin’ fun. I swear on Dutch’s left arsecheek I will set this place on fire.”

“Fine,” Charles groaned. He remembered Effie the night of that party, encouraging him to do shots, trying to get him to dance, trying to get him to smile. “I’ll drink with you, but we’re staying here.” 

“Fine enough. You best be getting’ hammered though. Wanna see a right drunk Charlie, I do.”

…………………………..

Effie was also in a sour mood.

The mansion was big, yes, their every need taken care of. The gardens in the back- lush, perfectly in place, beautiful. But she was goddamn bored out of her mind.

She’d never been stuck in one small space this long. Wasn’t used to having her freedom taken away. She’d already read three books, read countless story books to Jack, helped him read through countless more. Played with Jack, kept him entertained. But goddamn, she was no babysitter, and she was ready to tear her hair out if she couldn’t leave those walls soon. But escaping was a doomed idea. She didn’t know Saint Denis. Bronte had at least one guard on them at all times, two or three if they were out in the yard. And he kept her wearing those goddamn dresses, made with satin and silk with so much lace and ruffles and ribbons- she wanted to set fire to them, or at least tear off most of the fabric so she could stop sweating so goddamn much. Who wears that much cloth in that kind of heat and humidity? Goddamn idiots, that’s who. 

And then there was Bronte. Bronte, who tended to their every request. For a few days, Effie had tried to be as irritating as possible, asking for the most specific of things- a certain type of apple, towels that were even fluffier, socks of different materials, recently published books. Apparently she didn’t know what rich person life was like, because each of the things Bronte had handed to her with a smile within a few hours. So she’d given up on that. Not to mention he’d somehow gotten Jack to call him “Papa Bronte”, which made her skin crawl. She had done what she’d set her mind to do, to keep Jack close at all times, to not let him out of her sight. That boy didn’t breathe without her knowing. But still, Bronte was friendly toward the kid, asking him all sorts of questions at dinner, bringing him toys and sweets, buttering him up. It was fucking weird, and made Effie increasingly paranoid. And also scared that Jack would want to stay here instead of going back to his parents. Bronte had been trying to butter her up as well, bringing her lavish dresses and clothes and shoes and slippers. When that didn’t work he got her a new hat, a fancier version of what Sean had given her, and she left it in the box. Eventually he just began to leave books out for her, or pastries. Which kind of worked, and Effie took begrudgingly, but she kept herself cold during dinners, just so Bronte knew he wasn’t going to win her over, too.

And holy shit, she was so sick of spaghetti. 

Sure, a lot of things were nice. Effie dreaded going back to cold baths, was growing fond of the little sweets that were always on hand, had gotten somewhat addicted to the mangoes Bronte imported from some tiny island off Cuba or wherever. The interiors of the mansion, which always smelled nice and were miraculously cooler, freer from mosquitoes than outside. 

But goddamn, she was losing her mind. 

One morning her and Jack were getting dressed for the day- for what? Effie demanded in her mind. To sit around the mansion again? Maybe go outside and play hide and seek for the thousandth time?- and Effie emerged from the changing screen in yet another stupidly uncomfortable dress to see Jack, trying on her hat. The one from Sean. It fell over his eyes, pressed his ears down. 

“Aunt Effie, do I look like Papa?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Papa Bronte? God, no.”

Jack giggled, rearranging it so he could see, looking up with big eyes. “No, my Papa. From back home.”

Effie tried to hide a smile, knelt down. So he wasn’t forgetting. That lifted her spirits a bit. “Make a face like this.” She scrunched up her face, looking grumpy. Jack copied her, and she laughed. “Now you do!”

Jack laughed again, taking the hat off to set it on the chair where it was sat. 

“You can wear that for today, if you want,” Effie offered. The hat was still dirty and dusty from the night of the Rhodes fight. Maybe it would get some dust on Bronte’s spotless house. At least the hat would remind Jack where he came from, who loved him. Remind Bronte, too. Plus he looked adorable.

Jack grinned and nodded, putting it back on. Effie looked at the hat closely- she’d only just grabbed it just as she left camp for the last time, never really took a good look at it. It wasn’t anything super nice, was nothing like that hat that Bronte tried to give her. It was a cross between Sadie and Arthur’s hats, but a dark reddish-brown. A thin black cord ran around it, and now that Effie looked, she saw a tiny purple flower, long wilted and dead, tucked into it. 

At that moment she remembered the note that had been given with it, and her stomach jumped. She’d never gotten a chance to read it. She went to the chest at the foot of her bed, looking for her old clothes. They’d been cleaned by the maids, maybe it somehow survived- she dug through the pockets, found a soft lump in one of them. It was the note, wadded into a lopsided ball from being wet and dried. She tried to uncrumple it, but the paper began to flake apart in her fingers, the words long gone. 

She bit her lip. That would’ve been the last thing she’d hear from Sean. Possibly ever, if he didn’t make it out of Rhodes. She had no idea what it could’ve been. Sean couldn’t read or write, so maybe he got someone to write for him. Maybe he drew a picture or something. She felt a sad smile at her lips. He definitely wasn’t as good at drawing as Arthur was, and it was probably something inappropriate to make her laugh, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see it any less. Effie looked at the ruined paper in her fingers. Good lord, she needed a laugh, a real laugh, a laugh that wasn’t just to please a little kid, or to be polite to someone forcibly keeping her in their mansion. She wanted one of those laughs that made her eyes water, or one that didn’t make noise, it was just that wheezing sort of laugh where it escape before it could make sound; god, she wanted Sean here, to pick apart this house bit by bit, criticizing the stupid lavish decorations, antagonizing the guards. 

She needed that. She needed to get out of this place.

“Aunt Effie, what are we going to do today?” 

Effie sniffed, wiped her eyes- she didn’t realize she was tearing up. Thank god her back was still to Jack. She turned, seeing his smiling face from under the hat. It made her want to break all over again.

She forced a smile. “Dunno, Jack. Wanna learn how to play poker?”

Jack’s eyes widened and he nodded. 

“Just don’t tell your mother it was me who taught you.”

………………………………………………………………………………….

Arthur had tried to keep his mind on Jack. Only Jack. 

But then he had to spent days running around in that stupid, hazy heat, chasing leads while Dutch did who knows what, getting robbed by kids, and now his mood was sour, too.  
He settled down into the bath- he was treating himself, goddamnit, finally washing off all the sweat and grime from Shady Belle and Saint Denis. Trying to scrub off the memories of the last week or so. But as he got clean, his mind got clearer. As he sat, it began to wander. 

Effie’s face had flickered into his mind, and he brushed it away. No. He had bigger things to worry about. He had to find Jack. He had to find Jack because John, the big dumb idiot that he was, seemed to just be realizing what he had. What Arthur would probably never have. And goddamnit, he wasn’t going to let some inbred redneck southerners just take that away. John almost threw it away himself. Now he had wizened up, so Arthur was going to keep things right. Or make sure that John kept things right. 

He pictured, Jack’s little face, looking up at him, smiling. Then it wasn’t Jack. The child had his eyes, but darker hair, a longer, thinner nose-

No. He wasn’t going to let his mind wander like that. He should only be focusing on getting Jack back. He had to keep his… his-brother’s, he thought begrudgingly- his brother’s family alive.

Family. 

Effie’s face started to appear again, and Arthur waved it away, not just mentally but physically as well, splashing water onto the floor. 

No. Lingering like that never did any good. Effie was gone, he had to accept that. He never accepted it with Mary, not really, and look where that had gotten him. Still runnin’ her errands for her whenever she wrote, never hearing from her otherwise. He knew he was just being used at this point, but that he always looked for the next opportunity for him to see her again, even if it was just for a moment. 

That kind of settled down when Effie showed up in that basement. Beaten up, bleeding. Then with her arm broken, tied to that tree, skin turning different shades of purple and green and sickly yellow from the old bruises. He had the urge to help her, as she might’ve helped him- he still could really remember exactly how he’d escaped the O’Driscoll’s camp, except that she was with him the entire time. He vaguely remembered her clutching his waist, keeping him upright, on of her arms hot from all the blood and swelling caused by the broken bone. Honestly, that had been the closest he’d been to a woman in a long time. 

Stop it. Stop.

He didn’t deserve her. He knew that. He made sure she’d stay away. Although he didn’t mean to scare her that much- she heard later about Susan’s suspicions of that Nate fellow, how there were already old bruises on Effie when she’d arrived at camp, ones that weren’t from the night they’d escaped, how her arm shouldn’t have broken in that way, in that place. She probably saw some of Nate in him, and she was right. He’d never lay a finger on her, god no, the very thought made him sick- but he was in the same business. Doing the same kinds of things to other people. His would never have touched her, but they’d be hitting everyone else, so how was he really any different? No, that girl deserved something better. Nothing like him. 

He saw Charles stealing glances at her every now and then. The man was difficult book, but once you figured out how to read him, it was clear. Boy was smitten. Or was smote. Arthur wasn’t a smart man, but he knew that Charles had more interest in this girl than he’d ever with any other lady. He deserved someone good. Someone good like Effie.  
Dammit. God fucking damn. His fingers curled around the edge of the bathtub, knuckles turning white. If he could’ve done something. If he’d known that she was in Rhodes, he could’ve come and help her. Killing people, he was good at that. He could’ve killed those Braithwaites for her, easy. Instead she had to deal with them herself, while they did god knows what-

Stop it. Stop. 

That was over now. He had to think about Jack. Jack, who they had a chance at saving. For John, that idiot who didn’t realize yet that he had his own family that he loved. Idiot. He didn’t even know. 

John wasn’t going to lose something Arthur could never have. If it killed Arthur to make sure John wasn’t alone, that he had Abigail and Jack, to make sure they were safe, they could be happy outside of this bullshit life, it would be worth it. 

It would be worth it. 

Maybe it would make up for all the times Arthur could’ve had what John had, and let it slip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, shoutout to the harem I accidentally created  
> and THANK YOU for all the kind words!!!


	15. my body's strained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreamy dreamtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit later than usual... I'm on spring break. With a goddamn gutpunching cold.   
> But yay!  
> And again, thanks for all the kind words, yall!!!

Effie was floating above herself, dreaming. She was back in that bar, in that middle-of-nowhere town, years ago. Before the van der Lindes, before the O’Driscolls. Sitting at the bar was herself, of course, sipping at whiskey with dust on her face, sunken cheeks. She’d been hungry often then, when she was traveling by herself, nothing but her revolver on her hip and supplies on her back. Begging, when she had to. Accepting rides to different towns. Most places had their own town doctor, didn’t need one like her. They needed someone to treat illnesses, the sick and old. Her son of a bitch father had taught her many things, but not that. 

Floating above herself, Effie could see the faces of men, turning, smirking with friends behind her back. At that point, all she’d had to defend herself was that revolver. Had a couple of close calls. Too many. A couple that she put out of her mind, pretended didn’t happen. 

It was a dark time, then. When she’d shell out some cash to buy whiskey instead of food. Treating herself, she called it, knowing the alcohol would hit her faster with her stomach empty. She’d feel like shit later, to be sure. But at least for a bit she would feel nothing. Effie watched herself, sitting along, drinking. Dead eyes staring straight ahead. 

Those eyes barely even flinched when the gunshots started ringing out in the street outside. Even Effie, floating above, jumped. The other men in the bar downed their drinks, fleeing out the back door, the working girls ushered one another upstairs, even quickly tapping Effie on the arm to bring her with them, but she shrugged them off. Maybe it was the drink, the emptiness, the guilt… those things had filled her head terribly back then, to the point where gunshots didn’t bother her. She welcomed them, even. It meant she’d finally have some kind of work. Or she’d be dead. 

Effie finished her drink as the gunshots continued, left her seat to hide behind the bar. The bartender was already upstairs, had taken the shotgun under the counter with him. Effie helped herself to more whiskey from under the counter, waited. 

She watched herself from above, curiously, wondering. What would have turned out different if she’d gone to hide, if she’d run out the back door with the rest of them? She wouldn’t be in the situation she was in now, wouldn’t have killed Nate, wouldn’t have been beaten and broken by what she thought was her family. Wouldn’t have found the van der Lindes, too. Wouldn’t be stuck as Bronte’s prisoner.

She’d probably be just as she was at that bar where she’d started. Hungry, tired, empty. Using her spare change on drink. Probably would’ve become a working girl. Maybe have a kid that in her heart she didn’t want but knew she had to love, watch sadly as they began traveling the same path she had, despite her best efforts to give them a good life with what resources she had. Maybe she’d be murdered in another shootout like this, or snatched away by some group of bandits that had their fun before they’d killed her. Maybe she’d drown in alcohol, get struck by a carriage in the night, left in the road. 

A man staggered his way through the saloon’s swinging doors, holding his chest, leaving a bloody handprint across the weathered wood. A bullet whizzed past his head, hitting the wall with a crack. He was rugged, with dark, sun-tanned skin, four day’s worth of dark stubble, grinning with bright white against the pain of the bullet wound in his chest. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle as he scanned the saloon, looking for refuge. He struggled to get himself behind the bar, shoulders hunched to protect his head a little from stray bullets, lowered himself down to sit against the wall, breathing hard. Floating Effie watched as his eyes met her younger self’s. Both wide, panicked, not expecting the other to be there. Younger Effie, with the bottle of whiskey half up to her mouth, watching as the man pressed his hand into his chest trying to stop the blood flow. 

Stop. Effie wanted to scream at herself. Run.   
Instead, she watched herself wordlessly hand the bottle over to him. His eyes darted back and forth between her and the bottle, an incredulous smile playing at his lips. He took it, giving her a silent nod, and drank deeply. 

Effie watched herself, remembering the mental battle taking place in her half-buzzed mind. The urge to escape. The instinct at the sight of blood to stop it, fix whoever the person was, quickly so that her father could see to him. He wasn’t there though. It was all on her. The blood pumping out of the hole in this man’s chest was her responsibility. Or was it? She knew definitively that her fathers promise that they were helping people was a sham. A scam to make money, to take all that these dying people had, leaving them to live with nothing left. They never helped. Most of the time they made things worse. 

Run. 

She watched herself crawl over to the man, removing his hand from the wound with one hand, the other grabbing for her satchel. She watched the man stare at her as she tugged his bloodstained shirt off his shoulder, watched him restrain himself when Effie starting examining the wound. His eyes didn’t waver, zeroed in on her face, but she didn’t see, preoccupied with the gunshot wound. His eyes stayed there as she sat back on her heels for a moment, thinking, pulling her hair back with a cord, leaving smudges of blood on her temples. Then she got to work, her hands moving in a blur. Effie watched from above, it was sloppy work, nowhere close to her best, but it was better than nothing. 

God, she was so stupid. So stupid and so young. Looking back as she was now, she didn’t even want to know what kind of subconscious issues were causing her to help this man, bleeding out in front of her. To show her father that she could save someone. To work off some of the guilt she’d accumulated from all the other patients. Because she saw someone that was finally worse off than her. Because that someone was a man, and for once she was the one with power over him, she could help determine if he would live or die. Because he was a man, and a handsome one at that, and she was a little bit drunk. 

From the ceiling, Effie watched as the man suddenly grabbed her, pulling her in for a kiss. 

He’d joked about that later. “I thought I was going to die, Effie girl,” he would say, smiling. “And you were the angel sent to collect me.”

God, she had fallen for that, hard. But she could even remember that kiss now- desperate, hungry, he was kissing her like he she would be his last. His hands cradling her face, hot and wet with blood, his tongue slipping into her mouth as she froze, taken aback. If she wasn’t in the middle of a dream, she would’ve been blushing. She’d never been kissed like that before, never mind since. She saw her younger self lean into it for a moment, and her cheeks flaring as she pushed him off her, eyes widened with surprise. Saw the crooked grin on his pale face as he drank another pull of whiskey, offered the bottle back to her, which she accepted before continuing to try to save him from the bullet in her chest. 

The dream faded out of view as soon as Colm stepped in, triggering the beginning of her new life, and Effie came back to consciousness and pushed herself into sitting position. She looked over- she was still in the Bronte mansion, Jack sleeping in his own bed next to her, the sound of crickets chirping outside in the humid night air. Everything was as it was. 

Effie buried her face in her hands, the warmth of her cheeks against her palms. Why did she dream of that, of all things? She had wanted that part of her life to be over, she wanted Colm to be gone, all the boys, Nate especially. She wanted herself to only see Nate now for who he truly was. So why was she dreaming of him like that? Back when he was the fallen prince, and Effie, in his words, his angel? Back when he demanded that Effie stay with him, even though he was mostly healed. Arguing that she should have a place with them, food and shelter as long as she could work. Arguing for Colm to let him keep her close. Threatening any of the other boys that would get too close to her when she didn’t want them to. Promising to keep her safe. Promising that they would make a life like this, one that was solely their own. 

That was how it was at first, before things began changing. But how things ended- that surely mattered more than how they started. Not the stupid fairy tale that she thought she was thrown into, but the nightmare he’d become later. 

Effie felt herself chuckle bitterly when she realized that her relationship with Nate had begun and ended with blood. 

She grabbed at the glass of water on her nightstand, drinking deeply. Why was that the dream she was having? How had that memory survived all the shit she lived through since? Macabre as it was, it was still a good memory. But she didn’t want memories of Nate like that, not anymore. If she kept those, then they would overshadow everything else he did again, and then maybe she would be back where she’d started, thinking everything only happened because she triggered it. That he was wonderful, her savior, kind and gentle as a default. She was the one in the wrong, the reason why his temper would turn. 

“Its not your fault,” Effie whispered to herself. 

Effie curled into a ball, arms wrapping around her shins. She knew it was stupid, but she didn’t want to go back to sleep. She didn’t want to see Nate again, didn’t want to see any memory of him. He was dead and gone, and she was better off? There was no reason she should be missing him at all, right?

She stayed like that for a little while; it could’ve been minutes or hours, she didn’t know. Just trying to get ahold of her thoughts, make them stop zipping all over the place. Trying to think of something else whenever Nate’s face appeared in her head. Her first thought was of Charles, could almost feel those arms around her, strong and solid, holding her tight. It was a weird kind of déjà vu, since she’d never felt those arms, not like that, not like she could remember. She could almost see his kind eyes, his full lips curled almost imperceptibly into the tiniest of smiles. Could almost hear the low rumble in his chest when he laughed. Thinking of him made her feel calmer, made her thoughts more organized. Let her mind start to go blissfully blank, readying her back into a dreamless sleep.

It was the booming voice that told her they were there. Van der Linde, larger than life, voice raised and booming, even all the way upstairs. Effie’s head turned, instantly wide awake, trying to pinpoint the noise. They were here. They were here for Jack. She suddenly felt suffocated in her clothes, no longer imagining Charles’ arms wrapped around her comfortingly. Instead she was now constricted, there was too much fabric, she had to do something. Dutch was here, maybe more of them too, and they probably still didn’t know if Jack was safe. She had to talk to them. Dear lord, she had to talk to them, tell them Jack was alright. They were probably losing their minds. 

She heard footsteps moving downstairs, to Bronte’s parlor. More than would account for just Bronte and van der Linde. Dutch wouldn’t have come alone, possibly bringing John, and Arthur or Micah or Bill if they’d escaped Rhodes. On Bronte’s side, definitely a couple guards for safe measure. Bronte knew the gang better than they knew him, he definitely wasn’t going to risk anything. Not like John or anyone would be able to do anything risky, anyway; Bronte still had Jack, and they wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his safety, plus there were police around here everywhere- she saw them walking rounds from the windows. The gang, from what she could tell, also didn’t know a thing about Bronte, what kind of man he was, what he might be capable of. They were at his mercy. 

More raised voices. An argument, of some kind? She couldn’t make out the words, just the distinct sounds of van der Linde and Bronte. Both raised. She glanced quickly at the bed next to her. Jack lay there, sleeping soundly. Of course he could sleep through anything, growing up in that camp. Effie put down her book, got out of bed quietly as she could. She padded over to the door barefoot, the way Charles had shown her all those weeks ago when he was teaching her how to hunt. She had a plan ready, to tell their guard that she needed to use the bathroom, cite lady reasons, etc., etc.. She turned the knob slowly, wincing as it creaked a little, peeked through. There was no guard there. Van der Linde being there must’ve drawn their attention, gave them reason to protect Bronte. Peeking down the stairs, she saw many of them gathered outside the parlor, guns out. None facing her though. Effie held her breath, scampered down the stairs; she almost tripped, and she gasped, but the noise was covered up with the sound of Bronte laughing. Dutch was talking now, saying something, his tone more jovial, but Effie missed it as she dashed across the hallway into the drawing room adjacent to the parlor, closed the door until it was only so slightly ajar. She pressed her ear to the wall. 

-“you perform a simple job for me, and you get your son back.” Bronte’s voice. Jack. They were going to get Jack out of here, and soon. 

“What is it?” 

Effies heart skipped a beat and she clapped a hand over her mouth when she heard Arthur’s voice. So he was alive. If he made it out of Rhodes, the others must have too. Arthur was okay. He was okay. 

She must’ve nudged something, more made some kind of noise, because the door was slowly opening. Bronte laughed from the other room. Effie pressed herself against the wall, hoping that somehow she wouldn’t be seen, but the white of her nightgown seemed to glow in the late evening light. 

More laughter, the sound of shuffling feet as the guard, grabbed her by the arm. His grip was tight, pinching- he steered her out of the room to the staircase-

“Effie?” 

Her head whipped around to see Arthur, stopped dead in his tracks, face white. Eyes wide, looking like he was seeing a ghost. Otherwise he looked perfectly healthy- even dressed nicer for the visit with Bronte, it seemed, freshly shaved- if a good layer of stubble rather than a beard counted as shaved- with his clothes clean. Effie’s heart swelled, seeing someone she knew, someone she liked- she’d spent so many days here with only Jack. She was pulling unconsciously against the grasp of the guard, trying to move toward him. She wanted to run into his arms, bury her face in his chest, let him hold her, take her back home. 

“Arthur!” She gasped. “Jack’s okay! He’s fine! I’m looking after him, tell John and Abigail-“

But Arthur was being held back by two guards, as he struggled to get closer, his eyes still wide, a wild look in his eyes. Not that cold, killer look, but scared, panicked- she’d never seen it in him before. 

“Effie!” 

Now the guard that was holding her had pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her neck and shoulders, not choking her, just holding firm. He pulled a pistol out of the holster at his hip, pointing it at Arthur as a warning. A third guard took him by the back of his vest, starting to drag him out. No, no, no don’t take him away- she needed to go with him, god she needed that-

“Effie!”

“Tell John and Abigail that Jack is safe! I’m with him! He’s safe! He’s-“ 

The guard hit her on the side of the head with the butt of the pistol, causing her ears to ring and vision to go blurry. She heard Arthur yell her name once more, then van der Linde with his voice raised as well, scolding Arthur, apologizing to Bronte. The guard dragged her up the stairs, tossed her into her room. She landed on her hands and knees onto the floor as the same time the front door slammed shut. She stayed there for a moment, listening to the drones of Bronte and van der Linde’s voices droning on now, feeling the bump on the side of her head begin to swell as the pain echoed in her mind. Almost didn’t register Jack’s little hand on her shoulder. 

“Aunt Effie?” He asked, his face contorted with worry, tears at the corners of his eyes. “Aunt Effie?”

Effie forced a smile, pushed herself into a sitting position. “I’m okay, Jack. It’s all right.”

“What’s going on?”

Effie pulled him into a hug. “Your papa’s here,” she whispered. “He’s getting ready to take you home.”


	16. charge me your day rate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie faces some consequences. And some threats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yee haw

Bronte came to see her once Jack had gone. 

She was sitting at the edge of her bed in her nightgown, head in hands, trying to will away the nausea that came with that blow to the head. She must’ve been hit a lot harder than she thought. It didn’t help when Jack kept asking her why she wasn’t getting ready to leave too, the last whimper when he was ushered outside by some of the guards. 

He was going to be fine. He was about to be reunited with John and Arthur. He was going to get home safely to Abigail. 

But god, she’d been stupid. So goddamn stupid. She shouldn’t have gone downstairs- it was a split second decision, and she had Jack’s best interests in mind, but damn. What had it earned her, really? A glimpse of Arthur, a chance to make them more worried, a bump on the head? The annoyance of van der Linde? The anger of Bronte? It was stupid, impulsive. 

Effie clenched her teeth, riding through another wave of nausea. She barely noticed Bronte had entered the room until he had dragged a wooden chair across the room and sat across from her, gently taking one of her hands away from her head, examining the goose egg where she’d been clocked with the gun. She hissed when his fingers prodded the wound where it was trickling blood.

“Miss Elwood, you have disappointed me tonight,” he said in a low voice. He muttered something in Italian to a maid, who returned with a damp rag. He began dabbing at the blood, but Effie shook her head, taking it from him instead, tending to her own wounds. If there was one thing she was able to do, it was tend to wounds, and Bronte doing it for her was just patronizing. “I do not like to be interrupted during business dealings.”

Effie nodded, wincing. Shit. “I apologize, Mr. Bronte.”

He leaned back and sighed, crossing his arms. “You did confirm my suspicions, however. Mr. van der Linde and his associates seemed very surprised that you were here. It appears to me, that they thought you were dead.” A shiver went down Effie’s back. He leaned in closely, eyes boring into her. “Is there any reason why you would not tell me that they presumed you dead?”

Effie shook her head. “I didn’t know, Mr. Bronte. I apologize if that has caused you any misfortune.”

Bronte laughed shortly, clapping his hands, causing Effie to wince at the noise. “Nonsense, Miss Elwood. I am only jesting. Rather, you have given me another opportunity to conduct business with Mr. van der Linde, so you shall remain my houseguest until that business has concluded.”

Effie blinked. “Van der Linde won’t want to work to get me back,” she found herself saying. “I’m too new.”

Bronte smiled like a crocodile. “And an O’Driscoll?”

She looked up at him slowly, her blood running cold. 

“Oh, I know about your little arguments with the O’Driscolls,” he said, almost spitting at the name. “Uncivilized. You see, that is what happens out in the savage territory you call home. Killing one another for no reason, calling it honorable. It’s pathetic.” He sighed righteously. “Now. Being a rather influential man and having the connections as I do, I have looked into who you are, Miss Elwood. I wanted to verify that you were in the van der Linde gang. Imagine my surprise when I find out you’re associated with both the van der Lindes and the O’Driscolls, as a black widow and stray pup.”

“I ain’t an O’Driscoll anymore, mister. And I weren’t ever a black widow.”

Bronte laughed again. “Whatever you say, Miss Elwood, but tell that to a Mister Colm. Disgusting man. Appalling manners. Anyway, word has reached me that some of his men are looking for a woman matching your description and profession. Wanted for reparations for murder. Does this sound familiar, Miss Elwood?”

“Yes, Mr. Bronte.”

“Ha! So imagine my surprise when I realize that this wanted woman is staying in my house. You know what they call that, Miss Elwood?”

She sighed. “A business opportunity?”

He clapped in delight. “Precisely! So here I am now, with two different gangs vying for the same woman. Decisions to make, no?”

“I guess.”

“Now.” He leaned forward. “I am an honorable man. I am already doing business with Mr. van der Linde. It would be- how would you say- jackassery if I went back on a deal and sold you back to the O’Driscolls, no?” He smiled when Effie tensed her jaw. “I only want the best for my houseguests. I am a civilized man. I am going to hear out Mr. van der Linde, hear him out first.”

“However.” His tone grew cold. “If you are to pull any of the bullshit you did tonight, I may reconsider my options.”

Effie shivered. “Yes, Mr. Bronte.”

“From what I can tell, those O’Driscolls are horrible men.”

“Yes, Mr. Bronte.”

“They want to do horrible things to you. Torture you. Rape you. Kill you.”

“Yes, Mr. Bronte.”

He leaned back, a grin suddenly crossing his face. “So lets make sure that doesn’t happen! How does that sound, Miss Elwood?”

Effie had to clear her throat to speak. “That sounds agreeable, Mr. Bronte.”

“I trust you can think of a few activities that would disappoint me?”

She nodded. 

“And that you will refrain from doing them?”

“Yes, Mr. Bronte.”

He clapped his hands a final time and rose from his seat. “Excellent! I knew we could come to an agreement, Miss Elwood,” he said, patting her gently on the head, causing her to shut her eyes tight at the pain. “Rest well, and do not disappoint me.”

He left her sitting at the edge of her bed, shut the door behind him. She could hear him muttering at lightning speed in Italian to men outside. 

Effie wiped her face, surprised to find her fingers come away wet. There were tears in her eyes, she didn’t even notice. Hopefully they weren’t there when Bronte was speaking to her. She didn’t want to show any weakness in front of him.

But who was she kidding? She was completely powerless. She was just Bronte’s little pet, dressed up in his fancy clothes, living in his fancy house. It was shameful, embarrassing. She didn’t like being someone’s little doll. She was her father’s, she was Nate’s. She was done being someone else’s. The gang… they had let her be her own. Van der Linde didn’t seem to give a shit about her, but Hosea- he was more of a father figure than she’d ever had, and she just gone fishing with him a couple times. He asked her what she wanted with her life. Which was more than anyone else. And then there was Tilly. Basically her sister. Tilly was much younger than her, but she still felt like Effie’s older sister. And sitting around the fire with Mary-Beth and Karen and Molly too, they were the only female friends she’d ever had. Sadie and Abigail and Miss Grimshaw, they were mother hens. And then there were the boys. John. Lenny. Pearson. Uncle, even. 

And Arthur, Sean, Charles. Her heart constricted thinking about them. She didn’t know what she had with them. They were like brothers. Probably more, but she hadn’t let herself think that far yet. The last man she had been with had made her into his puppet, and she didn’t want to do that again. Those boys… they would never. They were kind, strong, solid rocks in her life. Dependable. How Nate was, at first. 

Dear lord, she missed everyone. 

She missed everyone so goddamn much. 

She wiped her eyes again, feeling the sleeve of her nightgown grow damp. 

They had all thought she was dead, Bronte had said. 

It explained Arthur’s expression when he’d seen her, like he’d seen a ghost. Because to him, she was a ghost, long lost in the red dust of Rhodes. Back in her mind, she suspected a little, but kept pushing the thought away, not wanting to entertain the possibility. Just distracting herself with keeping Jack safe and entertained and healthy. But now she knew it was true, and she wondered. Did they mourn her? Did they care? She’d only been around for a few months, it was understandable if they’d just moved on, right? 

Did they even look for her?

Would van der Linde even try to get her back? He’d been so indifferent to her presence the entire time, what if he didn’t bother doing anything, and just left her with Bronte? Then he’d give her back to the O’Driscolls, and then she’d be dead. Maybe Bronte wouldn’t do that, though. He was a con man, a criminal, devious as all hell- but from what she could tell, he wasn’t the worst. He was demanding and ominous, a snake preparing to strike, hidden in tall grass. He wasn’t a savage wild dog like Colm, tearing at whatever flesh came near. He wasn’t going to allow violence if it didn’t need to happen. At least, that’s what it seemed like. 

Effie tried to breathe slowly. In. out. In. out. Maybe she’d be okay. She’d be okay, and some way or another she was going to get out of this mansion, and she was going to be her own person again. Surely, that would happen. She just had to play nice. A day before, she would’ve been trying to plan an escape- she didn’t know how, but she’d escaped a gang once before, she could probably do it again even if she didn’t have help this time- but if she failed, she would get handed over to Colm. She couldn’t risk that. 

She had to trust that they would come for her. 

Someone cleared their throat from the doorway. 

Effie wiped quickly at her face, took a deep breath. “Yes?”

A tall figure shuffled into frame. It was the guard who had hit her with the pistol down at the hallway, that dragged her up the stairs, threw her into this room. He had to be taller than Arthur, but much ganglier, with light brown hair that stuck up every which way and a dust of freckles across his nose. He held his hat in his hands and had trouble meeting her eyes. 

Effie waited. 

The young man cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uhm.” His voice was much deeper than she’d expected, with a rasp to it. “I wanted to apologize for tonight, Miss… uh-“

“Elwood.”

“Right, ma’am. Elwood. Miss Elwood.” He scratched the back of his head, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to be quite so rough. We thought you were making a break for it, see-“

Effie waved her hand. “It’s quite alright. I was stupid, forgot my place.”

He nodded sheepishly.

“I’m assuming Mr. Bronte asked you to apologize?” Effie asked, the bitterness on her tongue more apparent than she’d intended.

He shook his head. “N-no, Miss Elwood, I, uh.” He took a breath. “I just felt kinda bad, you know, hittin’ a lady. S’not in my character, I swear.”

Effie sighed and nodded. “What’s your name, sir?”

He blinked stupidly. “Me? Uh. I’m Thomas, ma’am.”

“Well, thank you for your apology, Mister Thomas. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tend to this,” Effie said, gesturing to her head. 

He turned beet red. “Yes, Miss Elwood. Sorry, Miss Elwood. I, uh, I’ll be out here if you need anything,” he said, pointing his hat toward the hallway. He stood for a moment, mouth slightly agape, until he noticed Effie’s pressed lips, waiting for him to leave. “G’night, Miss Elwood.”

“Goodnight, Thomas.” 

………………………………………………………………………..

Charles knew something was wrong the moment they brought Jack back to camp.

John and Jack rode in first, all smiles, and he lowered Jack carefully down to Abigail’s waiting arms while the rest of the gang cheered and welcomed him back. But Arthur trailed behind, gave so much as a nod to the gang before heading over to Dutch’s tent. 

He knew Arthur loved Jack like he was his own. Took the place of a father for him when John didn’t. Or couldn’t. Knew he was overjoyed to see the little boy at home. But Charles could read his face as well as anyone’s. Something was bothering him, enough so that celebration of Jack’s return wasn’t a priority at the time. 

Charles went for a walk around Shady Belle until he could make out Dutch and Arthur’s voices from one of the rooms, leaned against the house casually. No one would notice him there, especially with the festivities. No one ever seemed to notice him, and that was alright with him.

“-you knew, didn’t you-“

“No, Arthur, I-“

“When they brought out Jack, you knew she wasn’t gonna be there!”

Her? Charles couldn’t think of someone that Arthur would be arguing about. Everyone- well, most everyone- was here, no one was missing. That girl Mary of his, he hadn’t heard anything about her for a good while. He had a thought of who Arthur could be talking about, but it couldn’t be right. He wanted to be right, so badly, and that was why it couldn’t. 

“Arthur, I swear, I had no idea-“

“She’s one of us, Dutch!” The sound of hands slamming on a table, something metal rattling in response. A pause. Then Arthur, tired, disappointed, “What’s gotten into you, Dutch?”

A long sigh. 

“I didn’t know, Arthur,” Dutch said in a low voice. “Not until you saw her downstairs. By then Bronte and I had made a deal.”

“You couldn’t have added her to be part of it? Would it have been that hard?”

“No,” Dutch answered. “I mean yes. Arthur- here’s the thing, we’re trying to do business with Bronte here, and the deal for young Jack had already been struck, so-“

“Don’t try to explain things to me like I’m a child,” Arthur growled. 

“Then stop acting like one!”

A long silence this time. Sound of shuffling feet. 

“Arthur,” Dutch said, voice only loud enough for Charles to just made it out, “we’re gonna get her back, we just need to be patient. Play things right. Bronte’s a dangerous man, and we want to be on his good side. Avoid bringing danger to her. To us.” A pause. “Go celebrate Jack, son. I’ll start looking at what cards we’ve got. We’re gonna get her back.”

Footsteps were now creaking across the floorboards of Shady Belle, which Charles took as his ticket to leave. However, as he made his way toward the front of Shady Belle, he ran straight into Arthur, who seemed to heading away from the party. There was an unopened beer bottle in his fist, and even in the dim lighting he could see the dark expression on his face. The expression he had when he was told one thing by Dutch but he felt differently. Arthur jumped when Charles appeared in front of him, not expecting him. He opened his mouth as if to talk, but couldn’t make up his mind on what to say and brushed past him. 

“Arthur.”

The other man turned, popping the top off the bottle, drinking deeply. He looked dog-tired. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What is it, Charles.” 

“What’s going on?”

Arthur sighed, ran a hand down his face, which was coated with smears of dust from whatever he’d been up to that night. Whatever it was he had to do to get Jack back. 

“It’s Effie,” he finally said. 

A twig broke somewhere behind him, and Arthur and Charles both instinctively drew their weapons at the source of the noise. A figure gracelessly stumbled out of the darkness, zipping up his pants. The shock of red hair and bandages told them immediately who it was. 

“What’re you doing here, Sean,” Arthur groaned. 

“Well-“ he hiccupped. “I woz taking a pisser, but then I heard somethin’ mighty interestin’. Wot’s this about Effie?”

Arthur looked back and forth between them. Charles shrugged. Exhausted, he sat down on a fallen tree nearby. “Effie is alive. She’s been at Angelo Bronte’s this whole goddamn time.”

Something like a knife felt like it had stabbed him in the heart. It was her. It was Effie they were talking about. It was. She was alive. Charles didn’t get her killed. He thought he’d feel some relief at this moment, but instead he just felt a sickening dread. Weeks, she’d been gone. Weeks, they’d assumed they’d never see her again. They didn’t even look for her. Instead, they left, they ran. And it was all Charles’ fault, for sending her out into Rhodes, alone and terrified.

“Har har, you’re a funny one, Arthur Morgan,” Sean said to break the silence, although there wasn’t an ounce of humor in his voice. “Don’ make jokes like that.”

Charles stared at Arthur. He knew the man. He could read face, tell when people were full of shit. “He’s not lying.”

Sean’s eyes darted between Charles and Arthur. His brow furrowed. “Now, come on, now,” he said slowly, finding difficulty to form words. “You all told us that Effie was dead. She got taken by the Braithwaites.” He walked up to Arthur, standing close. Arthur had at least a few inches on him, but Charles could almost feel anger brimming beneath Sean’s surface. “You been lyin’ to us, Morgan?”

“No,” Arthur answered gruffly. 

“You told me-“ he stopped suddenly, seeming to choke on his words. He gestured angrily with a finger at Arthur’s chest. “You told me she was dead, Morgan. You told me she was dead!” Charles laid a hand on Sean’s shoulder, trying to pull him away gently. Sean sagged under his weight, defeated. “So… so… she’s… she’s been with Bronte the whole time? With Jack?” 

Arthur nodded, lighting a cigarette. 

“I-“ Sean’s voice cracked. “He didn’ do nothin’ to her, did ‘e? If he did, I’ll- I’m-“

“She’s okay,” Arthur said, blowing out smoke. 

“Coz if they lay just a finger on her, I’m gonna-“ 

“You’re gonna what, Sean?” Arthur mumbled, agitated. “Ain’t nothing we can do. Just sit and wait till Dutch negotiates a way to get her back.” 

Charles spoke up. “We could steal her. Just you and me, dead of night. We’ve done stuff like that before.”

Sean piped up, slightly optimistic at the thought. “I’m no stranger to home break-ins, Morgan. We could be in and out before Bronte's had time to wipe his arse.”

Arthur shook his head, looking at the ground. “Nah. I’ve been there. Whole place is crawling with guards. City is crawling with law. We won’t get anywhere near. And Effie, she saw me, put of a bit of a fight-”

"As she would," Sean muttered with a slight smile.

"-so she's probably gonna have more guards near her now, too."

“We’ve gotta do something,” Charles said. The words felt sharp in his mouth. His fingers toyed absentmindedly at the blade of his tomahawk. “I’m the reason she’s there. I’ve gotta make it right.”

Sean lifted a finger at Charles, looked at Arthur pointedly. “He’s right.”

Charles glared at him. “In what sense?”

Arthur waved his hands. “Shut up, you two.”

“Why?” Sean’s voice raised, and he stepped up toward Charles. There were spots of red from drink on his cheeks. “Ye heard him, he sent her out-“

Arthur was between them, putting a hand on Sean’s chest. “Oh, shut up. If Effie wasn’t in Rhodes you’d have a bullet in your head, idiot.” He biffed him on the head, only hard enough to ruffle his hair. “We’re gonna- we’re just gonna-“ 

Arthur paced a couple steps, sighed, rubbing his eyes. “We’re gonna wait for Dutch on this one.”

Charles clenched his teeth. “Dutch was the one that didn’t want us looking for her in the first place. He doesn’t give a shit, Arthur.”

“He-“ Arthur sighed again. “He’s got a-“

“If you say plan I’m going to kick you in the gonads, I swear to Jim,” Sean interrupted, breaking the tension. Charles and Arthur both chuckled. 

“You’d better make sure he’s working on it,” Charles said. “You tell us what’s going on. We want in.”

“Speak for yourself, Smith,” Sean said, mock offended. “But yeah, I want in, Arthur Morgan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for the kind words, young whippersnappers!


	17. i'll turn you out in kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie learns she might have feelings. They have an old friend for supper with a nice chianti.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, those of you that are still keeping up... life is happening lol  
> As always, thank you for the kind comments, makes me smile every time!!!

Effie held her arms out straight, trying to stay as still as she could. Since she’d been in Saint Denis, she’d grown used to the constant humid heat, but now shivered, dressed in just her slip. It had been raining for three straight days, giving the air a heavy feeling. At first the cooling period had been nice, but the longer she was cooped up inside, the more the dampness seemed to seep into her bones. 

“First time getting fitted?” 

Effie flinched as cold fingers brushed her shoulder, causing the hair on the back on her neck to stand up. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Well, you’re going to look gorgeous, sweetie.” The seamstress measured across Effie’s chest at the collarbone. Her hands were soft. “What is the event?”

Effie blinked. “What?”

“Mr. Bronte has asked me to make you quite the gown,” the seamstress replied, smiling coyly. “Must be quite the party. It’s going to be the dress every girl wishes she had.”  
Effie quite doubted that. She assumed any kind of dress that required this many measurements was going to be as comfortable as a suit of armor. And a party? She didn’t know about any party. She was just sitting in her room, folded into blankets, when the seamstress walked in, introduced herself as Clara, and ordered her to undress. Thomas was carrying a great folding mirror in after her, and gave her an awkward smile before he went to stand guard at the door. 

“I know as much as you do,” Effie responded. 

The seamstress measured around Effie’s chest, and Effie held her breath, feeling awkward being this close to another person while so scantily clad. It wasn’t like she was particularly attracted to this woman, not at all- Clara was old, plump, probably in her late fifties, with blonde curls streaking with gray and a remarkably unweathered face for her age. This was just the most physically intimate she’d been with another person in a long time, and this was just a dress fitting. It was stupid to be embarrassed about, and she could see her cheeks getting red in her reflection.

“So what did you do before you came to Saint Denis?” Clara asked.

“Uh-“

“Not trying to be too nosy, its just you have a lot of scars, it reminded me of my cousin. Lived out near the Great Plains, out on a ranch.” She began measuring around her waist. Effie looked at her arms, only feeling like just now she was seeing the pale marks standing out against the dark of her skin. A mottled splotch on her bicep showed where she had tripped to close to the fire as a child, another long pale line further down from an escape through the brush where a thorn had gouged into her. Not to mention the still-pinkish scar on her cheekbone, a souvenir from her last day with the O’Driscolls where a bullet had grazed her. Thank god that bruises didn’t scar. “Got all sorts of marks on her skin from that. Had a giant one on her shoulder from where a horse bit her. And I said, you must mean a wolf, cousin dear, horses ain’t got teeth like that, but she swears up and down it was a horse.”

Effie wasn’t sure how to respond. “Um, yeah. Came from out west. Done a lot of rough living, I guess.”

“Wow.” Now the seamstress’s cheeks were flushing pink. “You know, I used to read these novels about outlaws and gunslingers out west, dream about all the young strapping men out there. Always dreamed about having me a cowboy to take care of me, all strong with rough hands, quiet smiles, fightin’ for chivalry and such…”

Effie coughed. “I assure you, they ain’t all like that.”

The seamstress’s eyes darted up mischievously, a youthful glint to them. “So you do know some strappin’ young men then, you sly girl.”

Effie shook her head, embarrassed. “No- I mean, I know a few-“

“You tell me all about them right now.”

“Uh-“

“Oh, come on. You’ve barely spoken a word and you’re already the most interesting client I’ve had in forever. Usually I just get the high and mighty society ladies from in town and they’re just so fussy and have all these little tea cakes and ugh.” The seamstress looked at her pointedly. “Now tell me about some rugged men.”

Effie closed her eyes, tried to picture someone. Arthur was the first that came to mind, fit the picture perfectly. “There’s one, real tall, huge drawl. Talks real soft and low most of the time. Real big and strong and kinda scary, but real soft too, I guess.”

Clara looked up at her once she had finished. “You can’t just say that and not elaborate, honey.”

“He, uh.” She remembered the days out in the Heartlands with Arthur and Charles. “Sometimes sings to himself when he doesn’t think anyone is around or can hear. Not really a singer, but it’s kinda nice, I don’t know.” She envisioned him down by the lake, his arms still in a sling, trying to hold his sketchbook steady on his leg as he drew. “Draws pictures of things when no one’s looking. Nature, flowers. People.”

“He ever draw you?”

Effie felt her face getting warm. “Maybe, if he did I’ll probably never see it.” 

The seamstress smiled. “Tell me about another one. I love this one already, but I wanna hear about everyone.”

Effie took a deep breath, eyes closed once again, saw the brilliant white of Sean’s smile. “Younger guy. Bright red hair, kinda longish, Irish.”

Clara huffed. “Oof. Had one too many of those. Almost had an Irish husband, I did. Rotten bastard. Next.”

Effie chuckled. “But he’s nice. One of the ones where they’re always smiling, want to make sure you’re in on the joke. Knows all the best drinking songs. When you’re sad he… he stays with you until you’re okay.” Effie cleared her throat, the melody of the song he’d sang to her echoing faintly in her mind. . “Kinda like a puppy, I guess.”

“Alright, I’m warming up to him. You still have another one?”

“Yeah. A real- what do you call it- strong and silent type? He doesn’t talk unless he wants to, but he’s real thoughtful, I guess.” Images of his silhouette from the days in the Heartlands, illuminated by fire and moonlight, him just watching over the plains while she was supposed to be asleep. “Really smart, a good teacher. Good with his hands.” Something that felt like a memory was at the edge of her mind. She reached for it. “… Really big arms, can pick you up like its nothing.”

Effie opened her eyes to see Clara smirking as she packed up her supplies. Effie hadn’t noticed she had finished working. “What?” 

Clara shrugged, pressing her lips together. “Oh nothing.”

“With all due respect, Miss Clara, that ain’t exactly a nothing face.”

Clara shrugged, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I was young once, miss. You tell that boy how you feel, because he’ll be to dumb to tell you himself.”

Effie’s stomach dropped, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Ma’am, I don’t-“

Clara smiled sweetly at her, fished something out of her bag and handed it to Effie. “Don’t think too hard about it, honey. Your heart knows, even if your brain doesn’t. And let me know how it goes, I’m invested now.”

Clara left, and Effie looked down at the card. A business card, with the address of a little shop. She set it on her nightstand and flopped onto her bed like a dead fish.

Effie’s brain was scrambling. What? What was she on about? Tell that boy how you feel? How was she supposed to do that? What- which one was she talking about? Effie shook her head. No. She was getting ahead of herself. Clara was making assumptions. She’d asked, and now she was making assumptions about what Effie had said. There was nothing like that, nothing like that at all. No sir. She couldn’t. She couldn’t, not yet, not this soon after Nate. It was too soon, and if she said something, did something, she would miss it again, that other side to him, and then what? She’d have trapped herself in another nightmare? Besides, they clearly didn’t feel the same way about her, they were just being nice because her life was so goddamn pathetic-

Effie realized she didn’t know who she was thinking about and screamed into her pillow. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………

A few hours later there was a knock at her door. It was Thomas.

“Mr. Bronte expects you for dinner,” he said. He gave her a shy grin. “So you’re allowed to leave your room today, that’s a plus, right?”

Effie pressed her forehead into the doorframe. “Depends. Do I have to dress all fancy?”

“Of course, Miss Elwood.”

Effie groaned loudly and closed the door, hearing Thomas chuckle from the other side. The guy clearly felt bad about hitting her, even though the bruise was finally starting to fade. Sometimes left an extra piece of chocolate under a napkin, or delivered her new books that she wasn’t always sure were the usual from Bronte. Plus he’d talk to her if there was ever a chance for conversation, and it wasn’t the forced, stiff kind of small talk she’d gotten accustomed to here. It was nice, casual, almost as if she were back in camp and not the prisoner of a crime kingpin.

Effie donned one of the dresses Bronte had given her to wear, this one with a white bodice and dark blue sleeves and skirt. One afternoon while bored she had tried on all the dresses she was given, trying to figure out which ones would allow her to sit and manage at least a couple bites of foot without being completely suffocating. This was once such dress. The green satin she had worn the first night she hadn’t touched since. She combed out her hair, wincing as the teeth caught around a couple tangles. There was one knot she couldn’t get out, feeling like she was going to tear her scalp off with it. She put her hair in a simple twist that one of the maids showed her after she’d attended one dinner with Bronte with apparently unacceptable hair. How the high society ladies managed to do this whole thing every day, she had no idea.

Another knock at the door told her it was time. Thomas offered an arm respectfully as she left her room, but she shook her head, gathering her skirts to venture down the stairs. There was laughter and light already coming from the dining room, and when she crossed the threshold, she found herself looking at the unmistakable back of Dutch van der Linde’s head. The black suit. The black curls. The posture, tall in his seat, looking larger than everyone else at the table. A hand on her elbow told her she had frozen, and she let Thomas guide her to her usual seat at the table. 

Van der Linde blew out smoke from his cigar, turning to look at her, his dark eyes narrowing as he grinned. Effie found herself only staring in response, feeling goosebumps rise on her arms. He was here. They were going to discuss business. About her. 

“And Mr. van der Linde, as we have discussed, Miss Elwood, safe and sound,” Bronte said, smiling, gesturing toward her with a glass of wine. A dark, deep red.

Van der Linde studied her, his gaze hawklike, taking in every inch of her. Effie looked down, placed her napkin on her lap. 

“Not quite, Mr. Bronte,” van der Linde said slowly. He must’ve spotted the greenish-purple bruising creeping toward her forehead near her temple. 

“Well, aside from that,” Bronte corrected, his tone jovial. “I’m afraid that occurred during the disturbance your colleague and Miss Elwood had caused the other night.” He sipped from his wine. “I assure you, both my guard and Miss Elwood have been reprimanded appropriately for disturbing the peace, I hope you have done the same with your colleague.”

“In kind, it has been done,” van der Linde said. Maids appeared in one of the doorways, holding those domed trays. Bronte nodded them in. The lifted the domes to reveal a square slice of something layered with the weirdly-textured starch that Effie had come to call noodles, but they were pressed flat and wide this time. Red sauce and white cheese oozed from between the layers. Effie poked at it with her fork. At least it looked more like food than lasagna. 

“Lasagna,” Bronte said, content. “Could someone pour Miss Elwood a glass of wine, please? It is, after all, a special occasion.”

Effie stiffened as a maid reached over her, filling her wine glass from a squat, dark bottle. 

“A Chianti,” Bronte continued as Effie eyed the glass cautiously. “From vineyards near the village of Castellina. Perfected over more than a century of work.” He lifted his own glass. “This vintage is older than you are, Miss Elwood.”

Effie recognized the cue, taking a sip. Her tongue almost curled up in revolt at the strong, bitter taste. She wasn’t sure how a liquid could be dry, but it was. Trying not to make any expression that would reveal her distaste, she lowered the glass back down and nodded to Bronte. 

He looked at her for a minute, scrutinizing, then broke into a laugh, to which van der Linde joined in. Effie looked back down, not sure what she did wrong.

Bronte said something in Italian to one of his guards before switching back to English. “Young people these days,” he said, still chuckling. “Do not understand the beauty of tradition, the old ways.”

“Indeed,” van der Linde agreed, raising his glass. Effie wasn’t really sure what either of them were alluding to, but it probably wasn’t the same thing. They’d put her in the middle of a game that she couldn’t quite follow. “Mr. Bronte, once again I thank you for your graciousness in ensuring Miss Elwood’s safety. Miss Elwood,” he continued, turning to Effie. She froze in her spot, not wanting to mess up whatever was going on. “How happy we all were when we learned of your safety. Three days of searching Rhodes up and down, but it had appeared you had vanished. We had all feared the worst. It was to our great surprise to learn of your being here.”

Effie blushed. So they had looked for her. They had tried. They cared enough. 

“I apologize for any distress I caused, Mr. van der Linde,” Effie replied, still keeping her eyes down. She had a feeling that if she looked up, or spoke unaddressed, it would be bad for van der Linde in the strange game. 

“No need to apologize,” van der Linde assured her. “We are only happy that you are safe. Mr. Bronte, you have done us a great favor in ensuring Miss Elwood’s safety, I only hope we can return the favor.”

There it was, like he was reading off a script. Effie kept her head down, trying to be invisible. 

“As a matter of fact, Mr. van der Linde, there is something that you can help us with.”

“By all means, I will be happy to assist as I can.”

Effie could hear the smile on Bronte’s face. “There is a particular sort of vermin in this state. Usually they remain in the swamps, but for the past few months they have been creeping ever so closely to this fair city, and have interfered with some of my business dealings.” 

“Extermination?”

Bronte nodded. “As one would put it. I have tried to send some men to clear them out a few times, but they seem to be more trouble than is worth losing my good men over. Now your men, in particular- I am sure living in the lawless west as you have, that you have encountered some sort of savages?”

Effie clenched her jaw, staring down at her lasagna.

Out of her peripherals, she saw van der Linde’s eyes flicker over to Effie and back to Bronte, narrowing slightly. “Yes,” he said carefully. “I suppose we have.”

“Wonderful. Then your men should fare far better than mine in clearing these inbreds out. They go by the-“ he snapped his fingers, thinking. “The Night Men. No, Night Folk. They have been spotted recently in the bayou just north of the city, in a couple camps or however they live, I don’t know.”

“Sounds like an easy enough job,” van der Linde replied. “My men will be on it pronto.”

Bronte clapped his hands. “Splendid. I also have another opportunity for you, this one much more lucrative, I must admit.” Van der Linde leaned forward, ever so slightly. “You and some men of your selection are to be my guests for a ball in honor of the good mayor of this city, Henri Lemieux.” His face twisted when he said the name, like he was sucking a lemon. “French names, they feel like slime in the mouth. Have you ever been to a ball, Mr. Van der Linde?”

“Not one of the famous balls of Lemoyne, I’m afraid.”

“Well.” Bronte clasped his hands together. “You will be my guests. Eat, drink, be merry. Some important figures will be there, presenting opportunities that I expect you would be interested in. I invite you to mingle, do whatever it is you men are want to do at this event, so long as you are the picture of perfect guests. I assume you men have garments appropriate for such an occasion?”

“That can be arranged.”

“Wonderful. It will be entertaining for me to see your men once they have had a bath.” Bronte gestured over to Effie. “Miss Elwood will be attending this ball as a guest of mine, as well. Assuming you complete your favor to me in this time, Miss Elwood is free to leave as she pleases.”

Effie took a deep breath. She was so close. She just had to survive a ball, that was it. Bronte and van der Linde spoke for a small while longer, but Effie’s ears were buzzing. She was going to get out of this damned mansion, be free in the open air again. Wear pants. Eat something without tomatoes in it. The hot baths she would miss for sure, but she wouldn’t trade seeing everyone again for the world. 

They had just finished their meals when van der Linde cleared his throat. “Mr. Bronte, if you may be so kind, may I have a word with Miss Elwood in private?”

Bronte nodded. “Of course, Mr. van der Linde.” He twirled a finger in the air, and the various guards and maids in the room began to file out. “I shall also take my leave for the night.” He and Dutch both stood, nodding and shaking hands. “Once you are finished you shall be escorted out. As will you, Miss Elwood, back to your room. I look forward to seeing you and your men in a week’s time.”

“As always, thank you for your kindness, Mr. Bronte.”

As soon as Bronte left, Dutch stood and moved to the seat next to Effie, who flinched back a little bit. 

“Miss Elwood,” Van der Linde said, his voice low. “We are going to get you out of here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Effie responded quietly. “I apologize for all the trouble I’ve caused. I would understand if-“

Van der Linde chuckled, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. “If what? We left you here?” He shook his head. “Miss Elwood, I made a promise to protect you as long as you protected us. Back in Rhodes, you saved young Sean’s life and probably others-“

“Sean’s alive?” Effie’s eyes widened as she interjected, but she bowed her head again. “Sorry for interrupting, sir.”

“Missing an ear now, but he’s as lively as ever. And do not apologize, Miss Elwood.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a part of our family. Just wish we would’ve been quicker in finding you. Besides, you’ve made Mr. Morgan quite riled up, and he was going to find a way to get you back if it took killing everyone in this entire house.”

Effie flinched. “They’re probably listening, you know.”

“I do.” Dutch stood, straightening his jacket. “Hang tight, Miss Elwood. You’re going to be home in a week.”

The door opened, as if on cue, and a guard appeared, ready to escort Dutch from the mansion. Effie remained sitting until Thomas appeared to take her back to her room.   
“I must say, we will miss you when you are gone, Miss Elwood,” he commented, leading Effie up the stairs while she tried not to trip on her skirts. 

Effie scoffed. “I’m not sure why you would, I’m essentially a ghost living in the attic now.”

“It’s refreshing to have something pleasant around, is all.” His face was slightly red when he got back up to the stairs. 

Effie laughed. “I guess that’s the least I can do.”

Thomas stood at the door, not yet opening it. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I uh, replaced the books you’ve finished. There’s also some paper and ink in your room now, if you want to write or anything.” He paused. “And a chocolate bar under your pillow.” He looked to the side awkwardly. “It was going to be a surprise, but now I’m scared it will melt while youre sleeping.”

Effie smiled. Thomas was a bit of a dunce, tall and gangly and lacking something, but she wasn’t sure what. But he was being genuinely nice to her, and that was refreshing. “That is very generous of you, Thomas.”

“It’s the least I can do to make up for my actions, Miss Elwood.”

“You can call me Effie.” 

His face went redder. “Yes, Miss Effie.” He opened the door, ushered her in. “Have a pleasant night, Miss Effie.”

Effie retreated into her room, closing the door behind her. She was wide awake now; she was going home, and she was going to have to wait a whole anxious week knowing that. She strode to the window, opening it, stuck her hand outside A few droplets of rain hit, pooling in her palm, nice and cool. Breathing in, she smelled the sweet air of the Lemoyne nighttime; damp and humid, but full of lush plant life that was hard to find out west. A nice change. She’d be able to be out there, soon enough.

Drawing her hand back inside, she stopped as she sensed the presence of an object outside the window, something that wasn’t usually there. She reached around the frame, her fingers finding something long and thin sticking out of the wood. She pulled- it was wedged, and it took a little bit of strength, but eventually it loosened and she brought it into the light.

It was an arrow, the head chipped a little now. At the end of the slender shaft, a long, pink feather had been added, and she pulled it off, twirling it in her fingers. She had no idea what kind of creature this was from. She turned the arrow over in her fingers, feeling the edge of something along the shaft as well- it was a bit of paper, rolled tightly. She unwound it, being careful to rip the slightly damp material. It was a small scrap of paper, the words scrawled tiny so that they would fit.

EFFIE:  
SEAN SAYS THANKS  
ABIGAIL AND JACK AND JOHN SAY THANKS  
COMING TO GET YOU SEE YOU  
MISS YOU


	18. when the moon is shining bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys do Bronte's dirty work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yee HAW folks I got a chapter for yall  
> prepare to be disgusted

Arthur’s boots suck into Bayou Nwa’s muck with a sickening squelch. He looked behind him at the boardwalks, nice and stable and dry, then back to the hand-drawn map that Bronte’s men had given Dutch, which pointed them in the complete opposite direction. Damn this place. What he wouldn’t give to be back in the Heartlands, with the nice dry air, the solid ground… he slapped a mosquito on his neck as he studied the map, hearing Sean swearing behind him as he lost a boot in the muck. 

“Are you sure this isn’t some big joke or somethin’?” Sean complained. 

“Shhh.” Charles raised his lantern, looking at the map over Arthur’s shoulder. “We’re close.” He snuffed his lantern, storing it. “Keep your eyes peeled for anything. They’re probably going to be around.”

Arthur grunted. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to track them in this shit.”

“No.” Charles’ hand wavered above the tomahawk at his belt. “Never ran into these people, but I’ve heard stories. They hang trophies on the trees, arms and ears and stuff, like territory markers.”

“Isn’t that what your people do?” Bill asked from behind them. Arthur wasn’t really sure why Bill of all people agreed to go along with this, but when Dutch asked for volunteers to venture out into the bayou to kill some inbred freaks, he was ready there. Charles turned slowly to look at him, his expression stony. Bill looked up from the mud and blinked. “Ah, shit- no, I didn’t mean-“

Charles turned back around without a word, but Arthur see the tension in his shoulders. Arthur shot Bill a look. When Charles spoke again, there was a bite to his voice. “We’re going to run into them soon, so be ready.”

“How do you know?” Sean asked. “I can’t see fuck all right now. Why’d we go out at night again?”

“They come out at night,” Charles answered simply with a hint of exasperation. 

“Ah. Like vampires.”

They continued walking into the bayou slowly, wrenching their feet out of the muck as they went. At one point Sean lost his boot again, and they had to wait as he fished it out, swearing under his breath all the while. Arthur turned his shotgun over in his hands, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand. 

Yes, they were doing this for Effie, but she was safe. She wasn’t in the middle of this bayou with the Night Folk. They had to keep their mind on those hidden bandits, not her. He could count on Charles to keep a clear mind, the man always did, the most reliable of all of them. He looked over at him, saw his brow furrowed, eyes flickering in the moonlight as they scanned the area. No, the fact that they were out in this godforsaken swamp for Effie wasn’t going to influence his actions at all. He could see the bigger picture. Sean, on the other hand- Arthur looked at Sean now, who was trying to scoop slime out of his boot so he could put it back on his foot. Arthur didn’t want to bring him along, as the injury to his head was still healing. If losing an ear affected his hearing or whatever, that was a concern, but not as much as the frantic energy he had been carrying the last few days since he learned Effie was alive. Sean was always eager to do jobs, especially when he wasn’t wanted, that was just the way he was. That reverse psychology or whatever that Hosea talked about. But on this one he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Arthur made a mental note to keep him in his peripherals, just in case. 

Eventually Sean muttered a few more curses and threw his boot further into the bayou, giving up on it completely, and he continued on with one shoe. It was silent in the bayou, except for the incessant chirp and buzz of insects, the sucking noises of the muck, and intermittent animal noises that Arthur couldn’t identify. That was another thing he hated about Lemoyne- the animals, they just weren’t right. The turtles? Didn’t look like turtles, looked like little demons with their pinched faces and had the attitude of angry snakes. The lizards? As big as horses and even angrier than the turtles. Thank god that even the gators didn’t roam in this part of the bayou, the water too thick for them to move in.

Charles stopped, narrowing his eyes at a tree ahead. 

“There’s something on the trunk,” he said, pulling his tomahawk from its sheath. “Bill, watch our back. Arthur and Sean, sides.” 

They slowly made their way toward the tree. Arthur’s eyes strained against the darkness, trying to see any kind of movement illuminated under the moonlight. It was goddamn creepy here. It was creepy, and disgusting, and he wanted to get out of there. 

Arthur heart Charles grunt when he reached the tree, observing whatever was there. “We’re in their territory now. Eyes up.” 

Arthur approached the tree, trying to figure out what the lumpy shape was that was tied to it, and felt bile in his throat when he saw what it was. It was- used to be- a woman, but the sickly sweet smell of rot wafted off of the body in waves. Her arms and breasts had been hacked off and her jaw was missing. Something that looked like slimy ropes was trailing out of her abdomen. Arthur turned away, tried to clear his throat. He heard Sean gag from a few feet away, could see he whites of Bill’s eyes as he stared at the body. 

“Stay focused,” Charles said, voice low. “They could be-“

Arthur barely processed what was happening in the next few moments- the mud at his feet shifted, something moved, and it stood up from the bayou, broken teeth and wide eyes reflecting moonlight as it raised a sludgy arm, brought something hard down on Arthur’s head- a branch or a club or something-

His vision went white and he stumbled backward, falling into the mud, his arms sinking in to the elbows, cold and wet. Someone yelled- a scream much higher pitched than any of them would admit, one that would definitely stay between themselves- and a gunshot echoed in the night, blasting through Arthur’s ears. Arthur blinked furiously, disoriented, but felt a hand on his head, not trying to hurt him but reassuring him. His vision cleared, seeing Charles’ outstretched hand to help him up. Arthur wiped sludge out of his eyes and took it, struggling to pull his body from the mud. It was like it was trying to swallow him whole, drag him down to an endless bottom. 

“You alright, Arthur?” Charles asked. 

Arthur spat to clear his mouth. It tasted of earth and decay. His head was pounding. “What the goddamn fuck was that?” 

He could now see that the thing’s head had been cleft in two by Charles’ tomahawk. Another humanoid shape was sprawled hear Sean, who was still pointing his revolver at it, not sure if it was dead or not. Charles pulled his tomahawk from the ruined skull of the dead one, swung it into the other’s head. Arthur tried to omit the noise it made from his head. 

“What we’re here to kill,” Charles said simply. “Look smart. They could be anywhere.”

“Anywhere?” Sean exclaimed. “It fookin’ rose out of the swamp like some kind of monster from the black lagoon- oh _shit-“_

He raised his gun ahead of him, firing at dark shape charging toward then. It moved far too quicky than should’ve been possible in the swamp. Arthur watched its shoulder hurl back from the impact of the bullet, but it’s pace didn’t slow. A much larger crack echoed through the night as Bill fired his shotgun once, twice. There was a dark splatter as the thing’s chest was torn through, and it fell with a squelch. 

A slippery arm wrapped around Arthur’s neck, squeezing. His fingers fumbled at his belt, finding the handle of his knife. He stabbed at the arm and the hold loosened; he grabbed at what he thought was it’s wrist, twisted, plunged the knife outward- it found purchase, and he stabbed until he felt something hot and wet dripping down his hand, kicked the thing away from him. Panting, he saw Charles trying to wrestle a long, rusty knife out of the hands of another mud-covered figure. Arthur flung his hand outwards, throwing his own knife, watching it bury its blade into the things neck, and its arms went limp. Charles pulled out the knife, tossing it to Arthur, who caught it by the handle. 

“Thanks,” Charles said, out of breath. 

Bill was helping Sean out of the mud, where he’d been tackled by another one of the night folk. Sean tried to wipe his face, but only succeeded in making himself dirtier. Bill cocked his shotgun, pointed out into the distance. His face was white, but had the expression Arthur had seen before, the one that settled onto his face when he was on a job. Determined, unrelenting. Bill could be an asshole, yes. A drunkard, definitely. But he took jobs seriously.

“See that?” He said. “Light. Jus’ a bit, but it’s there. Might be a camp or sumthin’.”

Charles nodded. “If we can find stable ground to fight on, some cover, that would help. Could draw them toward us, too. Good thinking ,Bill.”

Bill grunted in response, gestured at Sean to follow. “You two got our backs, then.”

Arthur looked toward Charles, eyebrows raised. Charles shrugged and nodded, following carefully, watching the dark corners of the area. Arthur scanned the mud, looking for any weird shapes or shadows, in case one of them was hiding under there again. It was inhuman, it was unnatural- it made him feel almost more human to be killing them. It was one of the only times, he realized, that he felt he wasn’t killing people, these were just more animals- god, what did that say about him? He wasn’t enjoying this, no, he never enjoyed it, he was just so goddamn good at killing was all-

He looked over to Charles, saw his hunched shoulders. There was nuance to him, to his posture, hints to his emotions if you knew where to look. He was more on edge that usual here. The thought of Effie must be encroaching on his mind too, distracting his senses from the current danger. It still surprised him, even though his suspicions about him were confirmed at Shady Belle, that he saw her differently than he saw most women. Charles was never outright romantic, nor flirty, although if you got him drunk enough and he thought no one was looking you could catch him whispering into a girl’s ear at a bar while her lips curled into a smile, his hand on her waist. Those kinds of desires were in him, somewhere, even though he kept them buried deep, or tried to make it seem like it. But with Effie… for him, it was almost like he was wearing his heart on his sleeve. Kid had it bad. 

And Arthur wanted it for him. Sure, he’d seen what the other man had to see in Effie, that quiet intensity. That giggle that would escape from her lips after a minute of restrained, silent laughter. The honed focus when she was working on something, concentrating. The way she pulled her long, dark hair back while holding the tie cord between her teeth. The way her face fell when no one was looking. But it wasn’t for him, none of that. She was young. She had her whole life ahead of her. She had no business throwing it away for a man like him, a man who’d staked his grave since the age of fourteen. And anyway, it wasn’t a romantic or sexual sort of fondness he felt toward her, he realized. Nothing like what he’d felt with Mary, nothing like what he’d had with Eliza. Like a sister he’d never had. Was more of the fondness of the woman she was, the woman she was growing up to be. The hope that she’d find happiness. The hope that he could help her get there. And Charles, he felt the same way about him- he’d had a rough go of things, but throughout all of it he was honest, genuine. Maybe those two together, they could make something of their lives. Maybe, if they could get out of this whole mess. He could almost picture visiting them in a cabin in the mountains, smiling shyly as he arrived, a little kid hiding behind Effie’s legs. Or a dog, at least. He could see Charles with a dog. 

Arthur turned his attention back to the mud, the humid hellscape buzzing with mosquitoes, moonlight hazy in the night air. This was exactly what he didn’t want- the distraction of why they were really there. They were there to kill Night Folk, yes, but they were there to get Effie back. It was stuck in his mind, and he’d be damned if it wasn’t stuck in Charles’ too. At least Charles wasn’t letting it bother him, at least not that Arthur could tell.

They stopped and crouched at a fallen log once they’d reached the light source. It was coming from candles in the window of a dilapidated hut, made of wood splintering and bending in the wet heat of the bayou. A few broken trees stood raggedly around the hut, blurred shapes hanging from them as well, just like the woman’s body. Arthur wrenched his attention away from them, not wanting to identify what body parts or creatures they were. They stared at it, quiet, listening and watching. The candle light flickered from movement in the hut, shadows passing by sluggishly. Arthur could make out faint noises, animal sounds that he’d heard before, but these ones were coming from inside the hut. 

Damn it, those people were making those noises. 

“Charles, you wanna do that thing where you go in all quiet and kill them?” Bill looked back at the rest of them. 

Charles stared, lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”

Bill flushed. “I- I didn’t even mean anything-“

“I was messing with you that time. I know what I’m good at.” Charles glanced to Arthur. “Coming with?”

“Always.” Arthur and Charles eased themselves over the log, creeping as quietly as possible toward the tiny cabin, Arthur ready with his knives, Charles with his tomahawk. There was no indication, no flicker of candlelight that suggested the inhabitants were aware of their presence. Arthur pressed his ear against the wall, little more than planks of wood nailed side by side. He could hear those animal noises, low grunting, some strange squeaking. Charles crouched below the window, flashing five fingers twice. Arthur nodded, positioned himself at the door. Counted to ten.

On ten, he burst through, eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight just enough to make out a shape. His wrist flicked, sending a knife that way. Something else in a corner moved, and he sent another toward it, then readied his hunting knife. He heard Charles grunt from where he’d hoisted himself inside through the window, and the familiar sicking crunch of the tomahawk. The figure from the corner lumbered toward him. In the dim candlelight, he saw a matted beard, patchy grizzled hair, a smile with too few teeth, open sores. Couldn’t be human, couldn’t be at all. Hands with fingernails like talons reached toward his throat, but Arthur was there to meet it, pulling the figure by the shoulder straight into his knife, twisting it in the wound until the thing was still. Clammy hands suddenly wrapped around his throat and twisted, sending him onto the ground. The floor was uncomfortably wet, smelled like shit. A hand was still around his throat, another on his face- he could smell them too, like rotting meat and mildew and piss and wet fur- the thumb prodding, trying to find his eye. Arthur fumbled for his knife, but the hand knocked it away, readjusting so its knees were on his shoulders, pinning him- both hands were on his face now, thumbs beginning to press into his eyelids. In a panic, he wretched his body, knocking the attacker off balance. He took the opportunity to reverse the hold, then he was on top of the Night Folk, fists smashing into their skull, feeling bones break under his knuckles as those talonlike fingers scratched at his arms and shoulders. Breathless, he saw the glint of his blade, grabbed it and stabbed down swiftly into the attacker’s neck, and they finally went still. Arthur looked up, panting, saw one figure- he almost thought it was a bear at first, hunch-backed and covered in ragged, untreated furs- holding one of Charles arm’s against the wall while he fended off the blade of another monstrous human with the other. Arthur yanked his knife from the throat of the dead man, sent it into the back of the one holding Charles’ arm. Charles, now both arms free, reversed the direction of the knife, but the assailant was still struggling- Arthur got to his feet, pushed the assailant from behind into his own knife. It twitched as it died, a strange chirping sound coming from its throat. If Arthur wasn’t right next to it, he could’ve sworn it was a bird making the noise. 

“Thanks,” Charles said, out of breath. “Stronger than they look.” 

He dug his lantern back out of his pack, lighting it in the window. As Arthur’s eyes adjusted to the light, he could see the rest of the inside of the cabin; it was small, barely bigger than an outhouse, but smelling exactly the same. Arthur pulled his bandana over his face. A hole was cut through the floor in one corner, which by the stench he assumed was their latrine. Skins and hides lay piled as some sort of nest, with small bones and trinkets scattered about. Another corner was filled with a pile of meat, flies buzzing around it, little white specks wriggling in some patches. Arthur could see the front section of a deer, random chunks missing from it, what he thought was a raccoon, but months dead, and hauntingly, a small human arm. And that was just what he could identify- at the bottom of the heap was a grayish sludge of meat long since rotten. 

Bill and Sean burst into the cabin, guns ready, and immediately started gagging. Bill threw up on the pile of furs. 

“What the hell is this?” he asked, spitting. “What the goddamn fuck-“

“Some sick, sick people,” Charles said. He had also pulled his bandana over his face, and was looking out the window, already focusing on what was next. “Sean, if you still have your lantern, light it. We’re gonna draw them toward us.”

“We’re trying to get these things to come to us now?” Sean asked weakly, his face turning a peculiar shade of green that contrasted his hair. “With all due respect, Charles, that’s a piss idea.”

“Unless you wanna keep getting attacked by mud people in the dark,” Arthur commented, loading his guns. 

“They’re coming now,” Charles said, aiming his shotgun out the window. “Arthur, Sean, take the doorway. Bill, the other window.” He paused, looking around the cabin. “Sean, keep an eye on the latrine as well.”

“They’re not gonna-“ Sean muttered to himself, then stopped. “Shit, that’s _exactly_ what they’d do-“

Bill fired, the explosion ripping through the hut. “They’re here!”

Arthur raised his rifle. He could see them now in the lanternlight, dark humanoid shapes seeming to rise out of the swamp, from behind trees, from nowhere, all covered in mud and rotting furs. Some decked out in mismatching jewelry that reflected the light. They lumbered at first, but then began moving faster, far quicker than should’ve been possible, until they were at an all out run toward the cabin. The way they moved too was unnatural, almost animalistic, beastlike. Gunfire filled the air, not even giving their ears time to ring. The bullets were hitting them for sure; Arthur saw the impacts sending their bodies jerking back, blood exploding from their chests, arms, legs, necks, but they kept running, getting as close as fifteen feet away before they were finally felled. Even then some of them kept crawling, snarling as they dragged themselves through the mud. They continued shooting, and the Night Folk seemed to keep coming, endlessly, a shrill of panic rising in Arthur’s chest every time one got too close, until finally, it seemed the last one dropped into the swamp. The four of them didn’t move, keeping their weapons up, straining their eyes in the darkness for any more movement. They stayed vigilant for maybe a half hour, occasionally firing a shot into one of the fallen bodies to make sure they stayed dead. At one point Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when Sean unloaded a revolver within the cabin with a terrified yelp, but was relieved when the shit-covered body slumped back down the latrine hole. 

Sean leaned against a wall, pressing more bullets into the revolver. “I swear to god-“ he paused, thinking, but couldn’t figure out anything clever to say, and was silent. 

“Think that’s all of them,” Charles said, slinging his shotgun back over his shoulder. “If it wasn’t, it’ll keep their numbers low for a while.”

“I hope so,” Sean agreed. “We killed a whole inbred redneck army. There’s not gonna be any more brothers for the sisters to fuck, I reckon.”

Arthur peered out the door, leaning against the frame, saw the sky beginning to lighten in the horizon. His hands felt numb from the constant recoil of the firearms. He could barely tell where the bodies were- they were already covered in mud, and they’d begun to sink further into the swamp. 

“Do we wanna look around, see if there’s anything valuable? Bronte said they’d been robbing his coaches.” A silence from the other was his answer. They didn’t want to dig around in this cabin any more than they had to. “Never mind. Can see why Bronte didn’t want to clear this place out himself.”

“Leave him to get his shit out of here,” Bill grunted, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder as well. “I don’t know about you fellas, but I’m going to go jump into a lake. Best we don’t show up at camp like this.” 

They had to be even more careful leaving the area of the hut, lest they trip on a submerged body and plunge themselves into the muck all over again. 

“Could’ve sworn there were more of them,” Bill muttered, looking around. “Felt like we were shooting for hours.”

“I’m torn, you know?” Sean commented. “I was gonna boast to Miss Effie what we did to get her back from Bronte, but…” He waved his hands around. “Honestly, I don’t want to think about this night ever again.”

“I’ve had worse,” Charles said, pushing ahead.

“Care to elaborate, big man?” 

“No.” 

They walked in silence, trudging back toward drier ground. The face of the one that was on top of him in the hut was playing over in his mind- the gnarled, twisted expression that was more beast than human, the skins and furs it had wrapped around it’s body, the teeth, blackened and sharp, shining with saliva. It had been awhile since he’d seen something that horribly wrong. Maybe since he stupidly visited those incesty pig siblings at their farm, when they drugged and robbed him. That was another time when he didn’t feel bad as their dead bodies hit the ground.

Arthur looked over at Sean, who was lagging behind now, his head down. He looked a wreck, with his chopped-short hair, the mess of muddy bandages that was hanging haphazardly on his head. Now that Arthur noticed, his clothes were hanging off him more than usual as well- he seemed to have lost weight in the past few weeks, and his eyes seemed sunken, lacking their usual cheery light. Not to mention the silly limp he had right now, with his one bare, mud-caked foot.

Arthur fell back to match Sean’s pace, who didn’t seem to notice him, his eyes glazed. “You alright, Sean?”

His eyes blinked back to focus. “Aw, shove off, Morgan.”

“What? You did well back there. Lots of…” Arthur mimicked shooting guns with his fingers. 

Sean scoffed, his tone sour. “Yeah, I shot someone in a literal _shit_ hole, Morgan. Real good work.” 

A minute of silence. 

“We should get those bandages off your head, clean it up, you know,” Arthur said. “Don’t want it to get infected or nothin’.”

“Will ye stop worrying about me?” Sean said loudly. Charles and Bill stopped and turned around, but Arthur waved a hand, signaling them to go on. Whatever the kid was moody about, he didn’t need to share it with everyone else. “I’m bloody fine, you all better stop treating me like-“

“Like you got shot in the head?” Arthur finished, giving him a pointed look. 

Sean sputtered for a moment. “Yeah, exactly. I’m fooking fine. Lost my fookin’ boot, but who gives a shit- I can carry my weight around here jus’ fine, ain’t no one here that should be held up because of me. There’s other shit to worry about, alright?”

Arthur just looked at him.

Sean’s face reddened. “What are ye lookin’ at me for, Morgan? I’m sorry that we can’t all be fookin’ powerhouses like you or Charles or a fookin’ tank like Williamson there. Stop fookin’ _pitying me_ when there’s other shoite to worry about.” 

“Ain’t no one pitying you, Sean,” Arthur said, putting his hands up, trying to calm him down. 

Sean opened his mouth to retort, but again he fumbled for words. His face fell, and he wordlessly turned back toward the direction out of the swamp. Arthur stumbled to catch up with him. 

“You blaming yourself, kid?”

Sean snorted. “No,” he defended, his tone a little too aggressive. Then he sighed. “It’s jus’… if- if I stayed up during the fight in Rhodes, things might’ve gone better, you know? Instead I- I-“ He waved toward his head, annoyed. “I was fookin’ dead weight, Morgan. I had to make Effie save me, and-“

Arthur chuckled. “You’re embarrassed that a lady saved your life?”

“What? No!” His face turned even redder. “I jus’… it’s me that’s supposed to be savin’ her, ye know?” 

Arthur stopped and laughed. “You think that girl needs savin’? Miss Elwood can take care of herself, I know that and you know that.”

“Well yeah, she could beat me to a bloody pulp and the only thing I’d be able to say back is ‘thank you’.” He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, he spoke with a softness that Arthur rarely heard from him. “But she shouldn’t have to try to be tough all the time, is all. She could take a break, you know. Be happy, not worry about shoite for once.” 

“Oh.”

Sean looked at Arthur, eyes narrowed, cheeks still beet red. “Shut up, ye big brute.”

“I didn’t say nothin’.”

“Aye, but even though it don’t look it, you’re thinkin’ something in that big skull o’ yers.” He looked back down. “Jus’… look, I didn’t say nothing, alright? M’ just tired, talking foolish.”

So it wasn’t just flirting. It wasn’t the casual flirting he’d done with all the other girls, especially Karen. He’d thought they had a thing, those two, but maybe there was some nuance to their relationship he was too old to understand. He’d seen Karen looking at him when he didn’t notice, smiling to herself, sometimes shaking her head to knock herself out of it. The touching when those two were drunk, always a little too much to just come from being tipsy. Although now he supposed he hadn’t seen that all to often, ever since Effie showed up. Karen seemed like she didn’t notice or didn’t care, but now that he heard Sean talking about Effie like that, he was sure that if he asked Tilly or Mary-Beth about it he’d hear a completely different story. Poor Karen, probably trying her damndest to be friendly toward Effie, who probably had no clue what she was unaware of doing to slight the other woman.

And poor Sean. It was like him and Mary. Effie on a high pedestal. Sean looking up at her- scruffy, outlawed, illiterate, _Irish,_ for god’s sake- without a chance in hell of ending up with her, probably. The girl was moving too fast for him, would be just out of his reach no matter how hard he tried. 

But the kid was trying. 

And Charles too.

That girl had a way of getting into all of their heads, and she probably didn’t even know she was doing it.

“Sean.”

He stopped in his tracks, looked at Arthur. The kid looked dog tired, beat to shit, covered in mud. 

“We really gotta clean up those bandages, though. If Effie comes back and sees it infected, she ain’t gonna be happy.”

He saw Sean crack the smallest of smiles, and they continued walking together back to their horses. 

“She’d probably shoot me in the head all over again, wouldn’t she?”

“Probably.” 

“Arthur?”

“Mrhhm?”

“I lost my fookin’ boot.”

“I know, Sean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope none of yall were eating while you read that


	19. gonna teach you tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DRESS UP DRESS UP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA ROUGH Y'ALL  
> first one I've struggled with, partially due to writers block and me not knowing how to transition into the next part, partly because I've been sorting out grad school offers and tours and schtuff- buuuuuuut that's almost over, and I'll hopefully be posting more often again!  
> So sorry for the wait (and disorganized subpar-ish chapter) but next time things'll be kicking off!

Effie lay out on one of the benches in the garden in a light summer dress, legs crossed and straight out in front of her. The sun had finally come back out, but the cool breeze remained, keeping away the mosquitoes and ruffling her hair across her face. It was going to be a good day. At least, she hoped. All that was standing between her and the gang was a stupid dress and a stupid party. 

“You gonna stay there all day?”

Effie opened one eye, seeing Thomas leaning against an ornate stone archway, his arms crossed. He’d been assigned to her almost day and night now. Was probably bored out of his mind. Effie had gotten used to his presence, always there, always watching, but not in any obscene or perverse way, just doing his job. Now that they’d spoken a few times, it was comfortable to have a familiar face around in this house full of strangers. 

“Yeah, what of it?”

Thomas grunted. “Dunno. Thought a van der Linde would be more exciting is all.”

Effie smirked, closing her eye again. “You thought wrong.” 

“You reckon your fellas got on okay?” 

“Hm?” Effie pushed herself up onto her elbows, squinting in the sunlight. 

“With the Night Folk.” 

“Oh.” Effie yawned. “They’re probably fine. Hardy men, they are. You know the type.”

Thomas shrugged. “They set traps, you know. Bury themselves in the mud so you can’t see them. Dismember the victims and string them up on trees like butchered pigs. Heard they eat them, too, gnaw on the bones like dogs.”

Effie narrowed her eyes. “You trying to scare me?”

He shrugged again. “Just sayin’ what I know, Miss Effie.” 

Effie lay back down, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well what I know is that dealin’ with those Night Folk or whatever? Just a walk in the park for them.” 

But there was a bit of fear now. She didn’t know who the Night Folk were. Didn’t know if Thomas was messing with her, lying, trying to make her doubt the gang. It wasn’t going to work. She knew they’d come out of it, a couple loads of ammo lighter, but still together all the same. 

No, she wasn’t scared for them. She felt guilt instead. Ashamed. That they had to do dirty work for her. She’d been selfish, she realized now. Selfish for being excited that they were going to get her out of this stupid mansion. On her account they were going into danger, facing the possibility of getting hurt, getting killed. They would be fine. Perfectly fine. But there was the possibility, and she was the one that sent them into the thick of it. 

She peeked at Thomas again. He was still standing against the archway, watching the river behind the mansion move slowly by, following some ducks swimming against the current. Was he trying to mess with her mind? Or just failing at a joke? 

Fuck. Either way, she was forcing them into danger on her behalf. She didn’t deserve that, didn’t deserve their favors, their protection. What had she done for them? Sewed up a dog? Shot and missed at a guy at Rhodes, but even that had wound her into more trouble. She owed them. She owed them so much, and she was only taking from them.   
Thomas said, they were told to hunt monsters. Actual, heinous people that even Bronte with all his men and all his weapons and all his money didn’t want to touch. It would make sense, wouldn’t it, that they didn’t find her worth it? That she would pack up all the belongings she had left here, ready to leave like a princess at a ball at Mayor Whats-his-name’s gala, and find that they didn’t come? That they weren’t bringing her home?

Maybe that wasn’t even her home. Again, she’d caused more trouble than she’d fixed. She liked the company of most of them. Felt close as family. But maybe she was imagining things and those feelings were unrequited. They were just being nice since she went through some shit. The men only liked her because she was young, and different from the other women in camp. Van der Linde didn’t see any value in her, she could swear it. Those nice words to her the other night, all the bullshit about how they were going to protect her and everything? Just another part of the business deal, another part of their stupid game. 

Maybe everything she felt with this gang was a lie. 

But there was a tiny voice inside her, shouting back, telling her she was wrong about that. The main noise in her head screaming over the other, telling her that she was alone, that she wasn’t worth their loyalty- that wasn’t her voice, not her own. It was something that was planted there, nurtured by people like her father, like Colm. Like Nate. It grew. Boy, it fucking grew with every goddamn hit, every snide comment, every demeaning look. She almost had to strain to hear the other, telling her that everything was alright, that it was going to be fine. They were coming for her. They loved her. Someone loved her. Someone in this goddamn world cared. That she was worth a bit of trouble.  
Effie sat up on the bench now, leaned over, buried her head in her hands. Damn it. She was already fucked up before, and she’d been healing back at Clemens Point, as much as she hated that word. But it was correct, “healing”- she’d been broken by people, and now she was starting to put herself back together, figure out who she was- not her father’s daughter, not Nate’s girl, not Colm’s surgeon. She was going to be Effie fucking Elwood, whatever she wanted that to mean. And now this place was fucking with her head again. She needed to get out, just for a walk, at least. Needed to see something besides this shitty garden and the gaudy walls of the mansion. 

“Miss Effie?”

Effie huffed, looked up. Thomas had taken a step forward, concern on his face. 

“Do you have a gun?” Effie asked, squinting up at him. 

He blinked, his hand going to his belt instinctively. 

“Yeah, I do,” he said cautiously, pulling the twin guns out of their holsters slowly so Effie could see. Revolvers. Effie groaned and put her head back down. “Uh… why you askin?”

“Ineedtoshootsomething,” Effie mumbled into her hands. She wanted to feel the cool metal of a rifle in her hands, almost welcomed the jolt of recoil when she would pull the trigger. Needed to feel like she was back out there, in the middle of nowhere, with just the boys beside her and no one actively scheming or consorting or whatever the hell was going on here.

“Huh?” 

“Some of the guys would take me out shooting,” Effie explained, sighing. “Really kinda… stress relieving, you know? Just like…” she raised her hands, imagining a rifle there, pretending she was looking through a scope at a bottle on a hedge at the edge of the garden, pulled the imaginary trigger. “Just little bottles and stuff. Was getting pretty good.” She looked up to see Thomas smirking. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he replied. “Just… you’re real little. Would knock you right over.” 

Effie shook her head, grinning. “Just as good as any of the men. Probably better than some.”

Thomas laughed. “You ever kill anyone with those guns of yours, Annie Oakley?”

Effie felt her smile falter. Nate wasn’t even the first thing that came to mind, but those men in Rhodes. She hadn’t thought of them since, but now that she was… she’d killed one of them, for sure. The gaping hole in the bottom half of his face was staring at her now. The other, that she hit in the arm- he was probably dead now, too, even if she wasn’t the one that finished it. She hadn’t even remembered until now. Was this what it was like to be Arthur? Did he get to a certain number of people murdered and stop feeling it? Maybe it was because her friends were in danger. Maybe because all her shame from murder was used up on Nate. 

Effie blinked herself back into the present, saw Thomas looking especially bashful. 

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “Dumb thing to ask.”

Effie shrugged in response, unsure of what to say. 

“I uh- I don’t really think Bronte is going to let you shoot a gun,” Thomas said slowly. “I think he’s got croquet though, you can do that.”

“What the fuck is croquet.”

“’S a game where you hit a little ball with a hammer through a little gate.”

Effie raised an eyebrow. “Is that what rich people do?”

Thomas shrugged. “Dunno, I’m not rich. But it might be fun to whack a ball with a stick, maybe?”

It actually did turn out to be rather fun to hit a ball with a stick. 

……………………………………………

Charles smirked as Arthur sat in the chain uncomfortably, his head tilted back, a razor blade to his face. 

“Hold still,” Grimshaw muttered as she dragged it across his face slowly, shaving far closer than Charles had ever seen on him. Arthur had his lips pursed. His face was red, like he was holding his breath. 

Dutch puffed on a cigar, watching over them. He was already in his suit, tails and everything, gold chain draped across his opulent red vest, even fancier than he usually wore. He looked over at Hosea approvingly, who was also dressed in a rich suit. It was finally the night of the mayors ball, and of course Dutch and Hosea only wanted to bring Arthur and, for some inexplicable reason, Bill. Which kind of made sense- the others who had asked to go were Sean, him, and Sadie. He wasn’t surprised about the decision- as much as he would go to make sure Effie got home safely, he would be a pariah in that situation, surrounded by white men with light eyes sneering down at him. Sean looked a mess, so obviously they didn’t want him mingling with Saint Denis’ upper class. And Sadie, she’d be able to blend in well, all dressed up like a proper lady, but her bubbling temper made her a wild card. So the three of them were going to be backup, watching over the grounds, while Lenny played chauffeur. 

“A shave isn’t going to kill you, Arthur,” Hosea commented. 

Arthur blew out a breath as Grimshaw wiped the blade on a rag. “Don’t see why Bill doesn’t have to get shaved and I do.”

“Because. Bill doesn’t have as pretty as a face as you, Mister Morgan,” Dutch said, smiling. “You’re doing a wonderful job, Susan. Any cleaner and we could have him in a dress again.” He laughed when Arthur shot him a glowering look. 

Bill walked out from behind a tent, and Charles had to struggle to keep a straight face. It was rare to see Bill in a suit, and he tugged out the waistline. Hosea smiled and clapped him on the back. 

“Put on a bit of weight there, haven’t you,” He remarked, eyes shining. 

Bill grumbled and shook him off. “This better be a good fucking party.”

“Oh, it will,” Dutch said. He cleared his throat, and Charles prepared for a speech. “Remember boys, top behavior. We are here to make friends. Connections. We are going to be high society, and if we do it well, it won’t just be for the night. Now remember, socializing with our new friends is our first priority. Any other acquaintances-“ he looked at Arthur pointedly. “-are of a secondary concern, so make sure your time is used wisely. If you are still worried about Miss Elwood, I remind you she is a guest of Mr. Bronte until the end of the night. That being said, I have listened to your concerns about the young lady’s safety.” He looked over to Charles. “Mr. Smith, I trust that you can keep Mr. McGuire and Mrs. Adler in line. That means no violence unless absolutely necessary, no disturbances that will draw any attention to you. If you so much as sneeze and someone finds out, we will deny any association and allow Saint Denis’ finest to arrest you. God forbid-” he paused, inhaled deeply for effect- “you make any contact with Miss Elwood.” His tone was dangerously cold. “Do I make myself clear?” Charles nodded. “Excellent. You take Miss Adler and Mister McGuire early, get to know the layout before it gets dark. Don’t want you being seen with us, neither.”

Charles found Sean cleaning his gun, dressed in much nicer clothes than he usually did, these ones without patches, unfaded. The ankles of his pants a little to high, yes, but as Sean would probably tell them, “he was a growing boy.” He looked up as Charles approached, eyes twinkling.

“Fine night for a party, eh?” He asked. 

“What are you cleaning that for?” Charles asked. “No guns. We’re not causing any trouble tonight.”

“Integrity,” he answered, admiring the shine. He looked Charles up and down. “Not dressing up, are you?”

Charles looked down. He was just wearing his normal blue shirt. Pants. Perfectly fine clothes. “Why would I?”

“Why the charade of it all,” Sean said, leaning back. “You realize we’re retrieving a young dame from the clutches of the enemy in the guise of a fancy dress party?” He stood up,   
dusted off his coat. “We’re like knights in shining armor, my man.”

Charles blinked. “We’re not even going to the party, you do realize that.” Sean grinned wickedly at him, and Charles rolled his eyes. “No.”

“Awh, come on,” Sean whined. “Sadie wants to go to, no one’s even going to notice-“

“what did I do?” Sadie leaned against a tree, an eyebrow raised. She wore her normal yellow shirt, nothing fancy. 

Sean gaped for a moment, looking like a fish. “We’re crashing the party?” he responded hopefully.

Sadie gave a barking laugh. “Fuck that, I ain’t kissin up to no fancy assholes. Would I have to wear a dress?”

Sean opened his mouth, but Charles spoke before he could answer. “Yep.”

“Well, double fuck that then. Don’t even have one.” Sadie reached out and flicked the scrap of Sean’s ear. “Can’t have you running around lookin like this, you’ll upset the ladies.”

Sean fumbled around, grabbing his hat from a nearby crate and ramming it on his head. “I was gonna wear a hat, ye daft bitch!” Sadie once again raised an eyebrow, and Charles smirked as Sean’s face went white. “No uh, no hard feelings meant there, Mrs Adler…”

She clapped in on the shoulder. “Just messin’ with ya, kid. The hat is fine. Far as I’m concerned, we’re only going to be needed if something goes horribly, terribly, catastrophically wrong-“

“-which it might, given the fools we’re sendin’-“

Sadie held up a finger. “Even if those boys are fools, Miss Effie ain’t. She’s going to take care of herself, and if she needs help, Bill, Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur will be there. Chances are we’ll just sit back and enjoy the music. But if she needs us, we’ll be there. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

“That was very positive of you,” Charles said.

Sean looked between them, confused. “Was it really, though?”

Sadie shrugged. “Between the three of us, you’re the only one that’s going to pull something stupid. Then you’ll have me and Charles to answer to first. Then Mayor Lemoiwhatever’s men, or Bronte’s, or whoever the fuck’s. Then the Saint Denis police. Then Dutch. Ain’t too hard to figure out, McGuire.”

Sean grumbled. “Fine. I’m still wearing my nice duds, though. I look good.”

……………………………………………………………………………….

 

Effie’s stomach turned in knots when Clara knocked on the door. It was time, now. To get all dolled up like a mannequin, pretend to enjoy high society while she waited to get spirited away back to camp. A little bit of her was excited- she knew she was going to be uncomfortable, yes. But back when she was running distraction for Arthur in that pink outfit… well, she had to admit she did feel pretty. She hadn’t felt pretty in a long time, and it was exhilarating being able to hold her head up and let herself be noticed instead of hunching herself small. She’d never really been able to do that, not with her father, especially not with Nate if there were other men around. She wouldn’t ever want to do it all the time, god no. But every once it a while. Not that she’d ever admit it.

Clara’s round face peek through the door, beaming bright. 

“Miss Effie, close your eyes!” she sang.

Effie felt her face already going red. “Oh lord,” she muttered, but closed her eyes. She heard Clara shuffle into the room, carry something that brushed against the floor. She flinched as she felt Clara’s fingertips on her shoulder, gently pulling her dress from her shoulders. Again, it was a sensation she’d felt so long ago in very different circumstances, that she hadn’t dreamed of feeling any time soon. Goose pimples prickled on her arms and she shuddered. She let Clara guide her limbs out of the summer dress, into a different fabric- silkier, cool, heavier, much heavier. Thank god this party was taking place in the evening, after the sun had set and the breeze had cooled; otherwise the layers and layers of cloth would be weighted down with sweat, and that would’ve been most unladylike. 

“You have any more gossip about those strapping young Western men of yours?” Clara asked, voice muffled through the pins held between her teeth. Effie felt her moving about near her feet, hemming.

Effie felt herself smile. “One of them sent me a letter. A secret letter, I guess.”

“What?” She heard a pin drop. “A secret love letter?”

Effie laughed. “No, not exactly, it’s over on the desk over there-“

She heard shuffling and was about to peek open an eye, but Clara snapped, “eyes shut!”

There was a pause as Clara examined the letter, still coiled small from being wrapped around the area. 

“Oh, Miss Effie,” she said, her voice soft.

“I said it’s not really a love letter-“

Fabric brushed against her toes, telling her Clara had resumed working, silently.

“I… I’m sorry, honey,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know you were… I didn’t know, uh, your circumstances-“

Shit. Effie didn’t know that the information that she was basically a prisoner was supposed to be kept quiet. She just assumed that Clara knew, just like the maids. 

“I’m, uh… just a guest of Bronte’s?” 

“Well the cat’s out of the bag now, sweetie. May I ask… how you got here? A-and don’t answer if its somethin’ horrible…”

Effie took a deep breath. “Wrong place, wrong time. Misunderstanding between two groups, that kind of thing.”

“But you’re goin’ home soon, right?” Effie could hear genuine worry in her voice. Bless this woman. She wished she’d had someone like Clara around. Maybe as a mother. Effie had never had one, so maybe this was what that was like. Having someone take care of you, make sure you were okay? 

Effie nodded quickly, trying to dispel her concern. “Yes, yes, I’m goin’ home tonight right from the gala.”

There was a pause, and Effie wondered if somehow she’d said something wrong, but then Clara spoke again. “So what you’re sayin’, Miss Effie, is that the first time you’re seein’ those outlaw boys of yours is in the dress I’ve made for you.”

Effie a grin spread across her face. “I suppose so.”

“Well, you can open your eyes and tell me exactly how they’ll trip over their feet as soon as they see you.”

Effie must’ve looked like a fish, standing there with her mouth agape. She’d been expecting something horrid, to be honest, with ruffles and corset ties and eighteen layers of velvet, something that Bronte would put her in as a joke. But this wasn’t that. It was fitted, yes, snug around her waist and chest, but without a corset. It was made with deep green fabric that caught the light almost iridescently. The sleeves were off the shoulder, the top hem trimmed straight across into the neckline with delicate black lace, framing just the top of her breasts and exposing her collarbone. The ends of her sleeves draped in subtle ruffled layers, and the waist was lined with the same black lace as was the bottom hem, accented with a black ribbon bow that tied at the back. Although the skirts were full, they were still light and airy, the fabric cool against her legs.  
Effie continued to stare at her reflection as Clara moved behind her, brushing out her hair and arranging it into some sort of updo. She’d never seen herself like this. Never really imagined herself, even. It just wasn’t who she was- Effie was an outlaw, and outcast, and outlander. She didn’t belong in high society, didn’t belong in any place with polished floors or clean windows or white paint. But now here she was, looking like- well, looking like a princess. Or at least dressed like one. Effie continued to blink stupidly at herself, and she saw Clara smirking from behind her. 

“I’ll tell you what, all the men will be fightin’ over you tonight,” Clara said coyly. “My little outlaw princess.” 

She yelped as Effie spun suddenly, taking her into a huge hug. She mainly smothered the seamstress’s head and shoulders, up on the pedestal as she was. That was fine with Effie though, as she was trying to hide foolish tears that sprung into her eyes. 

“Mmmph, mpmffphf!” Clara broke free, her eyes looking a little watery in turn. “Young lady, I was just about finished with your hair, and now I’m going to have to redo it again.”

Effie wiped at her eyes and turned back around. “Sorry, ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, big off, but thanks for being patient and for all your kudos and comments, they make my day!


	20. that'll blow your mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur loves parties!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big oofs still a lot of life going on but heyo I'm tryin

Dutch was lucky that he and Hosea were there on that balcony with Arthur and Bronte.

Arthur leaned against the railing, his eyes narrowed, flickering between Dutch and Bronte. Dutch was in his hospitable mode, all politeness and compliments and ineffable charm. Bronte was serving it right back, though not even bothering to hide his patronizing tone. Hosea was keeping an eye on Arthur, his eyes sending a silent message: stay calm, do what you’re told.

As if he could ignore the anger and shame bubbling inside him. For how they left Effie. They’d abandoned her. Didn’t even search for her. Accepted that goddamnned Braithwaite woman’s word that she was dead, while all the while she was being Bronte’s prisoner. Arthur found himself glaring at Bronte, squeezing the cigar between his teeth, and forced himself to look away. If he’d done anything to her… well, he was lucky that Dutch and Hosea were there. 

He was barely listening to the leaders speak, his last encounter at Bronte’s mansion playing over and over in his mind. Effie, in that white gown, screaming. Goddamn, she wasn’t even screaming for him to help her, she was trying to tell him that Jack was okay for John and Abigail… as if she wasn’t the one being held against her will. He could feel the guards pulling him back, and he’d pushed, trying to close the gap between him and Effie, but he wasn’t strong enough. And then he had to watch as the guard holding her hit her, dragged her up the stairs. He didn’t know what happened to her after that, he’d been thrown out into the street. It scared him to think about, her all alone in that giant house full of snakes. 

He had left her there. Again.

Arthur blew out cigar smoke, trying to control his breathing. Her nightmare was going to be over now, tonight. He would grab her and spirit her away this very moment if Dutch didn’t insist that they get business done. Hell, Arthur was supposed to sneak into the mayor’s office and snoop around. Arthur gritted his teeth. Effie was supposed to be one of them now, Dutch had agreed, hell, Dutch had promised to keep that girl safe, but now he was putting business in front of her. It wasn’t like Dutch- well, it was the new Dutch, the one playing more and more dangerous games in pursuit of some big score and pipe dreams in Tahiti. What had happened to the Dutch who kept his family safe at all costs, Arthur didn’t know. But that man was fading. 

He’d barely realized Bronte had descended down the steps into the swell of the party, leaving them to organize. Dutch blew out a smoke ring and gestured to the balcony, smiling, went to lean against the railing. The rest of them followed, overlooking the scene. It was probably one of the fancier events they had ever gone to. Gaggles of women in exuberant dresses flocked with one another, men in equally exquisite suits and tails chatted, cigar smoke around their heads in a thick bluish haze. Butlers and maids flitted about, clearing empty glasses or refilling them with sparkling golden champagne. A quartet of cellos- or maybe they were violins, he sure as hell didn’t know- played in a corner, filling the air with music. 

“This, my friends, is our future,” he said. “Could get used to this. Hosea, you see those men down there-“

Dutch began to detail the plans of the night- who would talk to which fancy figure to try and pry out “business dealings”, but Arthur had tuned him out, his gaze zeroing in on a single figure in the crowd. 

Standing awkwardly near a fountain was Effie, but in a way he’d never seen her before. It was still her- he had to blink a couple of times to make sure- but she was… she… his stomach turned over. She was beautiful, not only for the dress she wore- a decadent dark green thing that reminded him of the evergreens in the grizzlies, the color complimenting her dark skin and hair- or how her hair was put up in some sort of fancy way where wayward strands drifted slightly in the breeze, but because of how she carried herself. Confident, but to those who knew her, uncomfortable, with that little wrinkle on her brow and slightly hunched shoulders- her bare shoulders, Arthur noted, her skin almost seeming to glitter in the dim light. She was as uncomfortable as he was in his suit, and to Arthur that was a reminder of who she really was- not some fancy society girl, but bold, resourceful-

A chill went down the back of his neck as she suddenly looked up, sensing someone watching her. Her eyes went wide when she saw Arthur, lips curling as she tried to stifle a grin. It had to only be a few moments, but it felt like an eternity as they locked stares, Arthur on the balcony, Effie in the midst of the party. Then it was over as quickly as it started, the man beside her taking her arm and guiding her away- a flash of anger as Arthur recognized him as the one who had hit her- and at the same time, Dutch placing a bejeweled hand on his own shoulder, pulling him out of the trance.

“Mr. Morgan,” Dutch said. He was using that voice, the one where he laid the charm on thick but held the undertone that what he was saying was law. 

“Dutch.” Arthur cleared his throat and turned to face him. Dutch’s eyes were narrowed, and he held his cigar delicately in his gloved hands. 

“May I remind you of tonight’s objectives?”

“Again?” Arthur quipped, causing Dutch’s eyes to narrow further. 

Dutch stepped closer. “We are here on business, son. That takes precedent. Go socialize with high society. Make some friends.”

Arthur blew smoke, buried his cigar in one of the standing ashtrays. Goddamn, even the fucking ashtrays here were fancy. “Gladly.”

As he passed, Dutch grabbed his upper arm again, stopping him in his tracks. He could feel Dutch’s lips against his ear. “Do not get distracted, Arthur.”

“Would never, Dutch. Sucking up to rich folk is my speci-ality,” he mumbled back, and shook Dutch off him. His anger was there again, well not again- it was something that was constant at this point. Had Dutch not seen him when they had gotten back from the Braithwaites? He’d gotten drunk that night, more than he’d meant to, stalked off to the woods for a while, drunkenly trying to shoot some small animal to give to Pearson as an excuse for him to let out some emotions. Of course he didn’t hit anything, his hands shaking as he filled the bowstring back, watching arrow after arrow disappear into the bushes, vaguely aware that Charles was watching him from the shadows after wandering off on his own account. And then there was the night they’d brought Jack back, the party. Dutch and him had fought then, after he found out Effie was alive and terrified and a prisoner in that mansion. He would think that Dutch would’ve noticed how he… how he cared about this girl, would’ve taken that into consideration. After twenty goddamn years Dutch should be able to see something like that, or should at least be able to give a rat’s ass about what Arthur thought. 

And then there was the fact that Dutch wouldn’t let Charles into this godforsaken gala. Not that Charles would want to. He’d be absolutely miserable. But he’d do it, because Effie was here. Instead he let himself be resigned to the shadows, to the background as he always was, where he felt he belonged. That goddamnned kid. He was a good one. A good egg. Talented, intelligent, a powerhouse. But he didn’t let himself… Arthur didn’t know. Feel? Be happy? Kid really had it out for himself, and Arthur couldn’t figure out why. But he deserved to be let into this goddamn party, no matter what anyone said. He saw Charles’ face when Effie never returned from Rhodes- it was as if he felt he killed her himself. If Arthur wasn’t going to get over what that had done- what they hadn’t done- for Effie, Charles was even less likely. He fucking deserved to see her now, especially, looking like a jewel, a queen. Deserved to see she was safe, deserved to ask for her hand for a dance. 

Arthur moved through the party, joining in on conversations halfheartedly, trying to keep mental note of who he spoke with, who they were aligned with. This really wasn’t his setting. He was the fists, not the brains, all that was Hosea’s job. He didn’t really know why they even brought him along on excursions like this- at this point Hosea must’ve figured out he was really all brawn, that continuing to integrate him into social cons was pointless. He tried, though, he really did. 

And yet, despite all his trying, despite his intentions to follow Dutch’s plan, he found himself standing awkwardly in front of Effie, not really sure how he’d found her. She was an even prettier sight up close- he could now see the delicate lace teasing at her collarbone, how her dark eyes glittered in the low light. She looked up, and Arthur felt his face go red. 

Arthur fumbled for words. 

“Miss Effie,” he managed. 

She gazed at him with wide eyes, blinked rapidly. “Mr. Morgan.”

“Miss Effie.”

She blinked, the corners of her lips curling. “You already said that, Mr. Morgan.”

“I know that. Felt like sayin’ it again is all.” Stupid. Goddamn stupid. 

Arthur froze as she reached up a hand, poking his cheek with a fingertip, felt his cheeks get even hotter. “You don’t have any beard,” she commented. 

“Dutch and Hosea’s orders.” He cleared his throat, gently brushing her hand away. She took it back, holding it close to her chest. “You, uh. Look nice.”

She looked away bashfully. “Oh, shut it, Arthur.”

“’M bein’ serious, Miss Effie.” 

Effie didn’t reply; instead she bounced on her toes, glancing around, as if she was looking for someone. She looked nervous, and instinctively Arthur looked her up and down, looking for signs of bruising or scratches- her skin looked clean and smooth from what he could tell. 

“You guys are getting me out of here tonight, right?” she asked quietly, not making eye contact. Almost as if she was afraid to ask. 

Arthur forced a smile. “Don’t tell me you’d rather spend time with a bunch of us dirty outlaws than live in a fancy mansion-“

“I don’t-“

“With that spaghetti stuff and pillows an-“

Her eyes went wide again. “No, no- I-“ Her voice wavered. “I want to go back, I won’t cause no trouble or nothin’, I promise. Gonna earn my keep now, I swear it, I’ll do whatever you all ask, I’m-“

“Effie-“ Goddamn idiot. He’d said something wrong. He backpedaled in his mind, replaying the last few moments, grasping – she looked nervous, was scared to ask him if she was going home- damnit, not because she was afraid the wrong person would hear, but because she probably thought they weren’t going to take her. 

She hugged her arms close to her chest. “I’m real sorry about all the trouble I’ve caused, Arthur, you gotta believe me, I’ll work hard for everyone to make up for it, I swear-“

“What in the hell you talkin’ bout?” Arthur asked, cutting her off more sharply than he’d intended to, too riled by the night’s cutthroat energy. There was anger in his tone, but he didn’t mean it at her, he meant it at himself, at Dutch, at Bronte, for messing with her head just so. Her lip quivered and she looked down again. “You think we don’t want you back, or somethin’?” 

She didn’t answer, but that answered his question. She suddenly seemed very small before him. Young. Scared. She opened her mouth to say something, but a male voice cut her off. 

“Miss Effie, this guy botherin’ you?” 

Arthur recognized the face, vaguely at first, but then it clicked. The one who had pointed a gun at him. The one who had Effie in a headlock, hit her, dragged her up the stairs, did who knows what to her. Something deep inside Arthur’s chest grew cold and heavy, and he felt his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms. This man, who was now standing protectively in front of Effie- he was no protector. He was part of it. There was suddenly something in front of him that he could direct his anger at, and Arthur barely even registered that he was stepping forward to face the other man until Effie wedged herself between them. 

“No- no, it’s fine, Arthur- back off, Thomas-“ she butted her shoulder into Arthur’s sternum, trying to force him back a pace. 

“You hit her,” Arthur found himself saying in a low growl. The other man squared his shoulders, raising his chin. 

“Stop it- stop-“ Effie got the other man to step back. She huffed anxiously. “Arthur, this is Thomas, he’s- he’s a friend now-“

“What did you do to her,” Arthur said in a low voice. Sure he didn’t see any bruises, but bruises would heal anyway- he could’ve done something else, to her mind, to parts of her that he couldn’t see, that goddamn bastard- 

Thomas narrowed his eyes at him. Not as scared as he should be, Arthur thought. “Nothing. ‘Cept protect her better than you did.”

Becoming aware of a few heads turning to observe the conflict, Arthur resisted the urge to pummel him then and there, instead giving him a toothy grin. He was about to snap back at him, probably something he thought was smart at the time, but just past Thomas’ head he saw Dutch standing in the crowd, glaring at him. Shit. Shit, the mayors office. He had to follow Dutch’s goddamn plan. At the perfect time, too, he thought maliciously. Just when he had to prove- what exactly? That he was doing his best to protect her? By bringing her home? That he was better than this no-name guard? Some sort of stupid masculine contest that he couldn’t define?

He took a deep breath and focused his attention on Effie, who was still standing between them, her face pale. Without breaking eye contact with Dutch, Arthur bowed low, taking her hand and kissing it. Her hand was shaking, just slightly enough that Arthur could tell she was trying to hide it. 

“I need to go,” Arthur said.

It looked like the light died from her eyes, her face falling. Oh god- she thought he was really-

He took her hands in his own. “I’m not leaving you, Effie. I gotta go do somethin’ for Dutch. I’m-“ he took a deep breath. Squeezed her hands. “We’re not leaving you again, Effie. Never again.”

She nodded, still looking like her soul was crushed. The muscles in her jaw stood out as she clenched her tooth. Arthur looked up again- Dutch was still standing there, arms crossed now. He gave Effie a final nod, and turned back toward the mansion. 

There was doing what Dutch wanted, and then there was doing what was right. He’d followed Dutch all his life, because usually those two things were pretty close anyway. Or he thought they were. But now- Downes, Rhodes, Blackwater flashed in his mind, the self-disgust that he held inside as he struck, shot, escaped- there was something piling up inside him, that dark feeling he’d felt when Thomas walked up to them. It was the same one he’d felt at the shooting tree, after crushing the man’s face with his fingers, after killing those Night Folk, the Braithwaites… Maybe it had always been there, that darkness, but now he felt it. He was becoming something, and following Dutch’s plan was leading him toward it, maybe it always had. 

Effie didn’t need someone like him in her life. He’d just make things worse. It didn’t matter whatever confusing feelings he had for her- she didn’t need him darkening up her life like a cloud of smoke. The best he could do for her was to do things right, and that would start by getting her back to Shady Belle. 

But goddamnit, he had to get into the mayor’s office first. 

Turned out to be a good thing that he went, too.

He had been about to leave when the sound of voices from the other side of the door began. He grabbed a letter opener from the mayor’s desk, pressed himself flat on the other side of the door. The voices came front directly outside, as if they were standing right outside the door. He gripped the handle of the letter opener tightly as he heard a metallic click, but let out a breath when it turned out to be the others trying the handle of a locked door.

“Worth a try,” one of them said. “Don’t wanna bust down the door, we’ll be dead if things go bad this early.”

“Could you imagine if we came back with a shitton of loot?”

A laugh. “Colm would love us enough to have ol’ Nate turning in his grave.”

“Ha. Hopefully not like he loved Morgan.” Snickers. 

“Saw him downstairs, if he gets drunk enough we could nab him, too.”

That cold, dead weight enveloped him again, and he felt his heartbeat in his throat. O’Driscolls- but they hadn’t come this far east yet, have they? They weren’t in with Bronte like they were, unless Bronte was double crossing them, playing both sides just like they had done in Rhodes. Shit. Was the last thing they needed, more O’Driscolls. 

“What do you think he’s gonna do when we get her?” Footsteps, and the voices began to grow faint. 

“I can only imagine. Might get his sloppy seconds, though.” 

He had to strain his ears to hear now. “-take what I can get-“

He stood, frozen for a minute more. There were O’Driscolls here. He didn’t know how, but they’d gotten in. They couldn’t have been invited- maybe part of waitstaff? Gate crashers? Never mind how they were there- they knew Effie was here. That she was here, and guarded only by that man Thomas and polite society. But polite society was guarding the O’Driscolls, too- Arthur wouldn’t be able to take them out or do anything without someone noticing, and that would lead to the law, and then it would all be over. He didn’t know if he could ask Bronte to let them take her early, Bronte might be in on it. Couldn’t sneak her away, in case he wasn’t and would react to them violating whatever terms. Surely Dutch would know what to do, maybe he’d even listen if he knew that Arthur did what he was told; then again, Dutch was getting unpredictable, listening to him less, putting the money first. Damn, it used to be family first, no matter what, but apparently that wasn’t good enough anymore. Hosea, then. Hosea would care, and he knew how to navigate these types of events- he’d be able to find out how much Bronte knew, arrange to get Effie out if the situation was right. Yes, that could work. Had to work. Arthur ran through the party in his head, swearing under his breath. Even if that all went well, there were still so many variables- he had to trust Thomas, who had hurt her. Had to hope that the mayor’s security and the law were watching the place, had to hope that Charles and Sadie and Sean were in a position where they could act if they needed to without drawing too much attention. 

Shit. 

This was why he hated parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who kudos and comments, I love getting those notifications :)


	21. darling now I recognize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie takes a moment, meets an old friend. Charles awkwardly stands outside a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big oof= when you say you're going to post more often then you do the opposite  
> Sorry, end of semester is approaching :////

Charles hated Saint Denis. 

It stank. It was dirty in the way only cities could be, from waste and filth and people. It was hot, like the buildings all trapped the heat, and goddamn the mosquitoes. That being said, it was a wonderful night for a party- the evening brought a cool breeze, lighted torches within the garden’s walls gave off just enough smoke to keep the insects away. Of course, that was within the party, exactly where Charles was not. 

He glanced up to one of the nearby rooftops, looking for a flicker of light. Sean was up there somewhere, armed with nothing but binoculars, keeping watch on the walls of the mansion. He’d initially protested, of course, wanting to get in on the action, until Charles informed him “the action” would be hiding in business, getting his skin pierced by tiny little mosquitoey needles. Plus it had rained hard a couple days previous, and the edges of the walls had turned themselves into a smaller, slightly less muddy version of Bayou Nwa. After seeing the Night Folk rise out of that latrine, Charles was pretty sure Sean was steering clear of any kind of dirty work for the near future. It had been a miracle that his wound infected from all the filth that night, but then again, Sean’s head had to be so empty there was nothing for the germs to snack on anyway.

There was no light coming from the rooftop. That was the core of their signaling- a lit match on the rooftop, visible enough for someone looking for it to notice, small enough to prevent any trouble. Sean had at first insisted on a bird call, but after demonstrating his crow’s noise for Sadie, he dropped the idea. Horrific, it was, but it had done a little to relieve the tension that they felt.

Then he saw it, two quick flashes of pinprick light, followed by a long-short-long combo made by Sean moving his hand in front of the match. They’d made a code- two short flashes for Effie. One long for “stay alert”. Long-short-long was safe. Two matches simultaneously for S.O.S. It was rudimentary, and almost tiny enough to miss in the vast night, but it was the easiest method they had without shouting to each other across the street. Sean called it “iddy-umpty code”, saying he learned it from a telegraph operator he had robbed, although Charles suspected that was bullshit. He knew he meant Morse code, and he also knew that Sean didn’t know a goddamn lick about Morse code. Charles patted his pocket, making sure his own matches were still there. They’d agreed that Charles and Sadie on the ground were only to light theirs for absolute emergency, and Charles hoped he wouldn’t even have to take them out of his pocket. That would mean everything was going smoothly, and that Effie was safe. Stuck in that party, but safe.

Charles smirked, thinking of Effie in that situation. Probably all dressed up, miserable and grumpy. Trying and failing to make small talk. She wasn’t the best at hiding her mood, her emotions ready to read across her face most of the time. Probably would push any well-meaning socialites away. Maybe she was getting drunk off champagne or something, too- that would be a spectacle. He hadn’t seen her truly intoxicated since the party back at Clemens Point, but he knew that once she started a tiny buzz the corner of her lips would curl into an ever-present smirk. Hopefully she was in high spirits- they were going to bring her back tonight, to Shady Belle- oh, to see her face when they brought her there would be fun, she hadn’t even seen that house yet. Hopefully she’d gotten the letter he’d shot up to her window, with the spoonbill feather he’d attached. A reminder that they were coming, that they didn’t forget about her, about the reason that she was stuck there in the first place- him. Hopefully she’d forgive him. He could understand if she didn’t, and that was okay. Well, not really, it would be like a stab in the gut, but he had to expect that possibility. That she’d blame him, hate him. 

A stagecoach made its way down the street across from him, its wheels rattling across the uneven bricks of the road. Charles stayed crouched, knowing that in the brush he was nearly invisible. It was a large coach, headed by two men, one driver, one guard holding a rifle. As it passed by one of the streetlights, Charles got a glimpse through the window- empty. Probably just a coach for one of the guests, maybe picking them up. It was a nice coach, with polished wood, well-kept horses; if him and that coach weren’t in the middle of Saint Denis, it would probably be prime for robbing. 

Charles glanced upward toward where Sean was perched, seeing the long-short-long flickers of light in response to the coach. At least the kid was paying attention, following the plan, even though he was frustrated with his position. That was unlike him- usually he’d include himself in whatever part of the plan he wanted, like with the train robbery with John and Arthur. Showed that he too cared about this mission, more than usual. That had some implication, but Charles forced those thoughts away, too. He didn’t want to be bothered by that right now, he would save that for later. Maybe on a nice, long hunt. A couple of days to himself.

Charles moved from his spot, following the garden wall. Looking for ways inside. Not that he was going to try to sneak in, that would be foolish. But maybe he’d find someone slipping in or out of the party. He found what he was looking for- a wrought-iron gate built into the stucco, chained with a padlock. Past it he saw flickering shadows of the party, heard the music and chatter. Staying pressed to the wall, he reached out and tugged on the padlock. 

The body of the lock swung free from the shackle. Charles flinched, trying to keep it from dinging the other metal and making noise. It was open- no, it wasn’t open- he felt the shackle with his fingers, feeling a rugged, sharp edge just above the body of the lock. It was cut, positioned to look intact. Charles clenched his teeth. He couldn’t examine it further, didn’t want to risk stooping in front of the gate, letting himself be seen through the bars, couldn’t tell how long ago it was cut based on rust and wear. It was possible that the lock had been cut a while ago, perhaps on another robbery; the mayor of Saint Denis had money, and with money usually came enemies or ill-wishers. Crimes against the man and his estate had to have happened before. But then again, if they did… the gate would be regularly checked. A cut lock would be replaced quickly. 

Charles hurried back to his original spot, where Sean would be able to see him, took out his matches, lit it for a long exposure. Stay alert. Sean responded with two short, a pause, long-short-long, pause, long. He could see Effie in the party, safe, but would stay on alert. Charles let out a breath, hoped that wherever Sadie was hiding, she saw the message as well. 

He was aware of his pulse quickening. A cut lock, a back entrance into the party. Somebody had something planned. It might involve Effie, it might not. Could just be two crafty lovers escaping to carry out an affair somewhere private. Could be worse. Now it was just a waiting game, to see what would happen. 

………………………………………………………….

 

Effie blinked rapidly as she watched Arthur’s back disappear into the crowd, reeling from the emotional whiplash. The relief she felt when he suddenly just… appeared somehow before her in the midst of the crowd. It had almost been like a high to see him, cleaner and better dressed than she reckoned he’d ever been, knowing that she would be leaving, going home. But she was foolish, letting herself get that excited. She should’ve expected that she was secondary, was stupid for thinking herself important for the night. Effie put her hands to her face, trying to hide. What had she babbled out to him? Stupid concerns that they didn’t want her? Yes, those concerns were real, but why did she let that slip out? Arthur probably thought she was pathetic, weak. She saw it in his eyes, that pity as she walked away. She was fucking tired of being pitied, being looked down upon like a kicked puppy. Sick of the people that kept trying to put her in that position.

Thomas but a hand on her shoulder and she nearly slapped it off- she already got enough of that from him. 

“Miss Effie? That guy say something to you?” He asked, quietly. 

Effie wiped at her eyes quickly- there were no tears, but she wanted to be sure. “Yeah. Fine.” 

Thomas was looking over her shoulder, to where Arthur had went off to. “You sure you want to go back with that guy?”

Effie spun around, temper flaring. “Shut the fuck up, Thomas.” She was sick of him. Sick of his comments that always seemed to push the wrong button. 

He took a step back. “Jesus. Sorry.” He looked around, unsure what to do. “You, uh… want champagne?” 

Effie glared at him. 

He grimaced. “Nope. Okay. Well, uh. Let me know if you do?” 

Effie glared at him for a moment longer, briefly enjoying the discomfort on his face, before turning away. “I’m going to the ladies room. I know where it is.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“No. I’m just not a fucking idiot, Thomas.” She took off at a brisk pace through the crowd, slipping between couples conversing, dipping behind waiters. Thomas was going to follow her, that was his job, but she just needed a moment to be alone, settle down. There was too much tension in her fists, too many thoughts in her head, telling her that she wasn’t wanted, angry comebacks to Arthur and Thomas that could have been, all the noise of the party- clanking glasses, laughter, the high-pitched squeal of violins- cacophonous in her ears. Alone and quiet was what she needed, if only for a moment. Ever since she’d been brought into Bronte’s mansion, she’d begun to notice something of a change in her- quicker to temper, a higher urge to act on it. Something that must’ve been pushed down when she was with Nate. Something that would’ve probably killed her if he’d seen it, or else broken a rib or two. Now, with her pulse pounding in her ears, it scared her, and she needed it to leave, now.

The restroom turned out to be tucked in an obscure corner of the house. Effie rushed in, clicking the lock behind her just in time to see Thomas’s figure turn at the end of the hallway. She rested her head against the door, panting. She hadn’t realized she was breathing so quickly, shallowly. Last time she had felt like this was her first free night at the camp, when Sean had held her in his arms. If only he was here right now. Would be just what she needed, Sean and that puppy-dog gait of his, making fun of the other guests behind their backs and to their faces as long as he was quick enough, eyes sparkling. Effie wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing. Or just someone to hold her, tight. To make her feel like she was less alone at this huge gala. 

Effie thunked her head against the door. Just a couple hours more, she told herself. A couple hours, and then this would all be behind her and she could laugh about it and say “oh, wasn’t that an adventure” with a false smile. Shut up, she told herself. Don’t think about how you were scared, and alone, and couldn’t trust anyone. It will make things worse, and you just have to hold it together for a couple more hours. She splashed some water on her face, looked at herself in the mirror. The image that had delighted her hours before now felt unfamiliar, with the done-up hair and fancy dress. Effie reached back behind the ribbon of her dress, retrieved the feather that she had tucked beneath it, hidden. The little strands were a little crumpled now, but still held the unusual pink hue. When she got back, she was going to make Charles show her where it came from. Until then, it would be a comfort- something that came from beyond those mansion walls, something that Bronte hadn’t gifted to her.

Smiling a little, she tucked it into her updo, now a sharp splash of color against her dark hair. People were waiting for her, and it was a reminder. 

She took one last deep breath, unlatched the bathroom door, stepped outside, and immediately a hand was clamped over her mouth and nose, another around her chest, pinning her arms. 

“Don’t make a sound.” She knew that voice. Evans. Last she’d seen him was the night she and Arthur had escaped. One of Nate’s best friends. He’d kicked her when she was still down in that basement, anger and hatred in his voice. His hand was warm, sweaty. “We’ve been looking for you a long time, Effie girl.”

Effie girl. Nate had called her that, and she froze instinctually. Effie girl. 

“We’re going to walk now,” Evans whispered in her ear. “I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to do exactly as I say.” He let her go, his hand not so accidentally brushing across her chest as he removed his arm from around her, sending a shiver down her spine. 

Bronte said he wouldn’t… she’d done as he’d asked. Effie girl. She’d cooperated, didn’t cause any trouble. Her eyes darted through the hallways. Where was Thomas? He’d been right behind her- unless they got him too, somehow. She was alone in the hallway now, truly, with no one but Evans. Effie girl. Her stomach twisted. Did he say that on purpose, to scare her? If he did, it would confirm her suspicions that the O’Driscolls knew what Nate was doing to her the whole time, and that would make her a whole different kind of sick. Evans pushed her from behind, beckoning her to walk. Effie stumbled forward. No. She couldn’t go back. Colm would… they all would… goddamnit, hadn’t she been through that enough with Nate? What more could they take from her? She felt her hands shaking as she walked, out of fear, but now also out of anger too. No. She was fucking done with those men. 

Barely registering what she was doing, she grabbed Evans’ hand on her shoulder and spun, twisting his wrist and slammed her elbow onto his forced-straight elbow, feeling it give unnaturally. Evans groaned through his teeth- he couldn’t make a sound either, lest they both be found- and barely had time to react before Effie drove her fist into his nose, feeling her knuckles crack on impact. She turned and ran down the hallway before he could do anything else- she had to get back to the party, back where there were people with eyes and ears that would notice a man taking a woman against her will. 

She skittered to a fast walk when she hit the kitchens, feeling the eyes of the waitstaff on her, paranoia setting in. If Evans had gotten in, maybe there were O’Driscolls on staff, that was how they got into the party if it wasn’t Bronte that had brought them. There was a knife sitting at the edge of one of the prep counters, and Effie lingered for a moment, contemplating- where would she hide a knife? Down the front of her dress? No, she wouldn’t have anywhere to put it, not to mention that the cooks would probably take offense to a girl swiping one of their knives. Effie rushed past, too scared to look behind her, through the main foyer and back out into the garden. 

The party was just the same as it was before she’d left for the bathroom, people mingling in fancy clothes, the trickle of water fountains, the soft drone of violins. It felt like everyone was looking at her. She had to- she had to find someone-

“Effie!” 

She spun around too quickly, bumping straight into Thomas’s chest. He caught her, looking down, confused. 

“Where’d you get the feather?” He asked, but then his brow knotted. “Are- are you okay?”

She noticed then that the quick, shallow breathing she had tried to settle was back. Not to mention that her hair was probably mussed, her face wild with panic. 

She looked into Thomas’ eyes. They were also wide with concern. 

“Effie, you ran off, and then there was a fight, and you were gone-“

“I need to go,” Effie said, clinging to his chest, staring into his eyes, hoping that he would understand the urgency. 

“What?”

Good lord, he was so goddamn thick. “Some people who are after me are here, I need to get out of here.”

“I thought they were taking you home?”

She wanted to slap him. “Different people, you idiot. They’re going to… they’re…”

His eyes widened further, and he began looking around the party. “Okay, we’ll find Bronte, arrange to go back to the mansion-“

Effie grabbed his arms, shook her head. “No. He might be in on it, I… I…” Effie looked around wildly, trying to catch a glimpse of Arthur, of Hosea, but everyone seemed to blend together with their black suits and neat hair amidst the clouds of suffocating cigar smoke. “Remember the guy that almost decked you? Do you see him?”

Thomas stood up straighter, craning his neck, scanning the crowd. Shook his head. Effie looked around as well, and her eyes rested on Evans, leaning against a doorway, looking straight at her, arms crossed. A faint trickle of blood ran down his lip, and he wiped it away, grinning, the red standing out against the white of his uniform. Her blood ran cold. 

“They’re in the mansion,” she heard herself blubber. “Disguised as waiters. I can’t go back in there, they’re waiting for me-“

“That guy?” Thomas asked, looking in the same direction. “Shit. Shit, okay…” Thomas now spun around where he stood. 

Effie’s heart pounded in her chest, and she fought the urge not to burst into tears. They were here. The O’Driscolls were here, and they had her cornered, and Arthur had left her alone again. 

“Okay, there’s a gate at the back of the garden, we can sneak through the crowd, it might be open-“

Evans had started through the crowd, straight toward them. 

“Go, go,” Effie whimpered, pushing at Thomas, and he grabbed her hand, leading her toward the back door. 

………………………………………………..

Charles ears pricked at the sound of wheels creaking against cobbled bricks. A different sound than the stagecoach before. He looked out, seeing now a much simpler wagon, once again two men sitting at the head. This time they weren’t dressed as well, their clothes bearing patches, ratty bowler hats on top of their heads. The horses were just too skinny, too dirty. The driver turned to the back of the wagon, said something. The lit end of his cigarette bobbed as he talked. Charles saw two figures climb out of the wagon, one holding a rifle, the other sheathing a long knife at his belt. 

Charles’ hand went to his own belt, quickly drawing two matches and lighting them simultaneously. He held them as far out of the brush as he dared, hoping that the men wouldn’t see, but Sean would. He let himself glance up to Sean’s spot, chest tightening in anticipation as he saw two lights appear from the rooftop. They disappeared, and then another lit up, this time moving in a straight line in Charles’ direction. Sean was trying to lead Sadie to him. Probably the smartest thing he’s ever done in his life. 

Charles turned back to the men, who were now creeping into the bushes, toward the gate. It was them, whatever they were planning was happening now. Charles gritted his teeth, trying to hear Sadie coming up behind him, but instead only hearing the buzz of insects. Shit. There were two of them, which didn’t particularly scare Charles, except that he had to stay dead silent. One would definitely notice if the other went down, and if they called back to the wagon, then there would be trouble, and everyone would be fucked. He held his position as the men moved to theirs, one on either side of the gate, pressed against the wall as he’d been not long before. The one with the gun was further from him. Ideally, he’d have to take that one out first, before he could attract others with the sound of gunfire and set the entire area into lockdown. Fuck, where was Sadie? She still wasn’t behind him, and he couldn’t call out for her. 

Charles squinted, trying to make out the figures of the men, see any more weapons. The one with the gun unsurprisingly also had a knife, so there was a secondary weapon to worry about- his eyes drifted up, saw the green cloth tucked into the man’s chest pocket- shit. Shit. There weren’t supposed to be O’Driscolls here, but they seemed to follow them wherever they went like a plague. And it wasn’t in their style to rob a high-society party- they were here for Effie, no questions asked. Maybe Arthur as well, but Arthur had fought off multiple people before. These two both nearly Arthur’s size- Effie wouldn’t have a chance against them. 

But he had to just prevent Effie from getting to the fence or getting taken to it. A distraction, maybe. Like he imagined, a gunshot in the night air would set the entire area on lockdown, meaning Effie wouldn’t be able to leave anyway. Charles’ hands went to his belt, feeling only his knife and tomahawk. Shit. Only Sean had a gun with him way up on the roof, but he was under strict instructions not to fire. Of course, this was the night of all nights that he was actually following the plan. 

Moments before he was about to strike the first guard, he saw something glint against the moonlight- the blade of Sadie’s knife, her smile breaking though the darkness. She’d went all the way around the mansion. Charles smiled himself, then crept up and drove his blade into the throat of one of the O’Driscolls, severing arteries, blocking his windpipe. The man fumbled at his belt weakly, his mouth opening and closing without noise. Charles lead him gently, quietly toward the ground, looked up to see Sadie do the same. 

“Wasn’t gonna let you kill O’Driscolls without me,” Sadie whispered, patting down her target’s pockets as he choked feebly. “Don’t pretend you weren’t gonna go on without me.”

“I was wrong,” Charles agreed, suddenly feeling stupid. Although his brand of “reckless” was much different than what Sean or Sadie would do, he was toeing his own personal line. “Might still be more at that wagon they brought up.”

“I saw, ‘ll get Sean to deal with them with me. Now that we know they’re here, might as well stay on the ground.” Sadie wiped the blood from her knife on her jeans. “Meet you back here when that’s done?”

Charles thought. “Maybe spread out around the mansion, do corners. Then if something else happens, at least one of us will know. I’ll stay here.”

He could sense Sadie’s smirk. “Want all the credit for when those bastards try and sneak Effie out, do ya?”

“No,” Charles said, albeit a little too quickly. “No, I just don’t want to disregard any other possibilities.”

She patted him on the shoulder. “Look at you, startin’ to talk fancy. Don’t worry, those rich fuckers don’t even compare to you, Charles.” 

“What-“ he began, but Sadie winked and disappeared into the brush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait yall, hoping for another chapter this weekend!!!  
> fingers crossed?  
> Thanks for all the kind words and kudos :) yee haw on, my buddies


	22. you're a hideous thing inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do you have?"  
> "A KNIFE!"  
> "NO!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEE HAW

Effie nearly tripped- over her skirts, over the brick pathway, over her own feet- as Thomas guided her by the hand toward the back of the party. She looked over her shoulder, instinct urging her that Evans was right behind her, knife in hand, but the blur of faces and people made it too hard for her eyes to focus. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, but she couldn’t erase his smile from her mind, sharp teeth stained red with blood from when she’d punched him. A bitter though crossed her mind, that she should’ve set fire to the camp as she fled with Arthur. She’d never felt this cornered, this hunted before. 

“Thomas-“ 

“We’re almost there,” Thomas huffed, barely looking over his own shoulder. They brushed past hedges, statues, fountains now, the sounds of the party droning away, the drone of crickets growing louder, light growing dimmer. Effie’s heart pounded. The estate was much larger than she’d realized, and they were getting further and further away; further away from Arthur and Hosea, sure, but further from Evans and whatever O’Driscolls or Bronte’s men had it out for her. It wasn’t reassuring to her, though, when Thomas’ grip shifted from her hand to her wrist, still dragging her, but now she could see the gate he’d spoken of in sight, they were about to get out-

“Miss Effie?” 

Effie skidded to a halt instinctively, recognizing the voice from the gang. Her heeled shoes stuck awkwardly in the soft ground and she stumbled, falling into Thomas’s arms. Effie used him to pull herself up to stand again- one of her fancy shoes lay stick in mud a few feet back- and Thomas’ arms tightened around her as they faced the speaker. But it was wrong, somehow, the muscles too tense, too hard. An old feeling started to come over her, one that she thought she’d pushed down for the rest of her life now, and goosebumps began to raise on her arms.

Bill Williamson emerged from the shadows. She’d seen him up on the balcony with the rest of them, but now his cheeks were ruddied from drink, his collar disheveled. He swayed slightly where he stood. She could almost imagine Hosea yelling at him for being drunk on a goddamn job, a fancy one, at that. For a moment she pressed back into Thomas. Bill had never meant her well, he was always sided with that piece of rat shit Micah. His drunken murmuring behind her back, the slurs, the hate in his eyes. Her blood was running cold, but not all of it was because of Bill. Thomas’ hold on her was firm, too firm to be solely protective of her well-being. It was a kind of grip she recognized, and for what felt like the hundredth time, a familiar frozen shock shifted through her bones, immobilizing her with terror. It was like she suddenly was back at the O’Driscoll camp.

She’d done something wrong but she didn’t know what. Nate’s expression would never change, and if they were in public no one would have a clue, not even if she told them later. Only she would be the one to feel it, feel the change, see the light in his eyes become cold, his smile story… she would come back later and undress to find purple fingerprints in her arm from where he’d gripped her… and then later in the night they would remind him of whatever it had been that she’d done… 

Nate’s fingers were pressing into her, too hard, bruising… No, Nate was dead, and he couldn’t hurt her anymore, this was Thomas, this was the present. But this was too much the same, the same feeling of betrayal, the same transition into malice, the same anxiety toward incoming pain. The same tiny, helpless, doomed feeling. The feeling that she’d told herself she’d never feel again. 

“Who is this, Effie?” Bill asked, words slurring slightly, taking a step closer. The grip tightened further, and Effie held back a gasp, old instincts flooding back- if she made a sound or any indication that something was wrong, it would be worse later. She realized now how stupid she was. Thomas- goddamn it, she considered him- thought him- well, shit, she didn’t know what she’d though he was, maybe just a stupid young man working a job with a slight crush on her or something, but the attention that he gave her wasn’t that. She’d began to trust him as much as she thought she could, barely even as a friend, and even that was too much. Fucking of course, he was one of them- _fuck,_ she couldn’t tell who “them” was anymore- Bronte? O’Driscolls? Then again, she didn’t trust the man across from her either, who had sneered at her as she tried to save a shot dog all those weeks ago, called her things under his breath. 

“A friend, who the fuck are you?” Thomas asked, his voice deeper now than Effie had remembered hearing. The change in voice was even the same, one minute soft, kind. The other…

Bill put his hands up, eyes flicking between Effie and Thomas. “Also a friend,” he responded slowly, the end of the statement ever so slightly swinging up in tone, as if part question. 

“How do I know you ain’t one of the folk trying to get her?” Thomas asked, voice cool. The awkward, gangly boy he’d been whenever he was with her- that was gone, and somehow this new persona felt more real. Made her feel even stupider. They were all the goddamn same, and she fucking fell for it every time.

Bill looked confused. “I ain’t?” He looked toward Effie, seemingly not grasping the situation. “Effie, you know me. It’s Bill.” Effie couldn’t bring herself to speak. She’d been so scared she hadn’t noticed the shift in Thomas’ position, only now registered something sharp poking into the small of her back. Bill’s brow furrowed, and she stared at him with wide eyes, unable to make a sound. Bill shuffled, cleared his throat. “What, uh, what you mean by folk tryin’ to get her?” 

Thomas wretched her a step closer to the gate while Effie held eye contact, hoped that Bill could figure it out. Willed him to figure it out. Tried to not imagine a few minutes into the future if Bill let Thomas take her.

“I’ve been charged by Mr. Bronte to keep Miss Elwood safe,” Thomas said. “The lady’s been attacked near the mansion, I am trying to get her to safety. Through the back gate.”   
Something changed in Bill’s eyes then, and Effie’s breath hitched in her throat. Thomas seemed to sense it as well, and the point of the knife disappeared from her back, blade finding a new home against the side of her neck. The edge scraped lightly against her skin as she breathed, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.

“All I want is for Miss Effie to be safe,” Thomas stated coolly. He gestured slightly with the knife toward the gate, causing Effie to reflexively gasp and shut her eyes. “I would be most obliged if you helped lead us from the estate, Mr. Bill.” 

Bill narrowed his eyes, fingers twitching near where his gun belt would’ve been. 

“Wouldn’t do Miss Elwood well for you do to anything rash,” Thomas said, turning her again so they were fully facing the gate. Effie didn’t dare to breathe. “Might mistake you for one of them. Could you please, now?” 

Bill’s face twisted, but his hands relaxed. Effie’s heart sank as he moved toward the gate- he was going to give her up, just like that. Wasn’t anything less than what she expected from him, him and Micah had been spitting at her feet the entire time she’d been at camp, was what they wanted, for her to be gone. She shivered and closed her eyes, already seeing Colm’s face in her mind, looking down at her, that stingy hair dangling. She wondered how long she’d live once she was back in his hands. Definitely long enough for her to wish she’d died along with Nate, at this point it would have been better…

She was expecting the sudden force from in front of her, pushing her back, as Bill barreled into them with the force of a buffalo. She landed on top of Thomas, hard enough to knock the breath out of him, and she was shoved aside by Bill before her body even had time to make a full landing. There was a sharp sting at her neck as she was twisted away and out of Thomas’ arms. She hit the ground, hands immediately going to her neck, finding it wet and hot. Fresh terror sprang up and she clutched at her neck, too scared that if she moved her palm all her life would drain out of her in a literal heartbeat. A kick, not deliberately aimed at her hit her in the side and she rolled away from the scuffle, momentarily blinded by the rush of it all. The sound of fists hitting flesh and grunts grew louder, and Effie blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head, crawling on her hands and knees away. Something had broken in those last few seconds, any reign that she had on reality gone, the world now a sea of terror. She looked up, vision clearing- the gate was in front of her, but the face behind it wasn’t an O’Driscoll; she choked back a sob, seeing Charles’ face, and now the certain death she thought that gate was, it was now the only thing she wanted. She stumbled forward, gasping, and fell against the bars. There were hands on her again, but it wasn’t like Nate, wasn’t like Thomas- Charles pressed her close as the bars would allow, his hand on pushing her own away from her neck gently, feeling the blood and the wound there. Effie’s hands flailed, trying to push him aside- she was going to die if she didn’t put pressure on it-

“Shhh, Effie, Effie,” he said, voice low, reassuring. The one thing she’d ever wanted to hear. “Just a scratch, it’s not deep, it’s okay-“

“They’re _here,”_ she blubbered, the metal of the gate pressing into her forehead. Effie couldn’t stop herself from shaking, as much as Charles’ touch tried to soothe her. “They’re h- Charles, I- I- _please_ don’t…“ She couldn’t form words, waves of fear blocking out her senses, the only thing keeping her grounded her grip on the bars. That feeling she’d felt earlier, the anger, the presumptuousness that she wasn’t going to let men like them rule her life- it seemed so stupid now; she was helpless, she was nothing, she was everything Nate told her she was. 

Charles pressed his forehead as much as he could against hers, still holding her tight. The sounds of beating went on behind her. “Shh. It’s okay, we took care of them. Sadie and Sean are here, there aren’t any more of them. Look, you’re safe now-“

Hands were on her from behind, trying to pull her away from the gate, her only anchor. She kicked out, feeling her bare foot harmlessly connect with something. Another voice she recognized rumbled in her ears-

“Shhh. It’s okay, Miss Effie-“ 

“You got her?” Charles’ fingers were unwrapping hers from the bars, urging her to let go. Arms were around her again, huge arms, and feeling tiny she let Arthur press her into his chest, breathing in the smell of outdoors and horses and gunsmoke on his jacket. She buried her face it it, trying to block everything out. 

“ _Shit-_ is this-“

“Just a scratch, Arthur. She’ll be okay.“

“Okay. You all go make sure the rest are gone, I’ll- I’ll find Bronte, and Dutch-“

“Good, keep her safe. Bill alright?”

“Bill’ll be fuckin fine, go on. Hey, hey, hey.” Arthur’s voice was now in her ear, his breath tickling her hair. “You the one that split that other guy’s lip? The mousey lookin’ one?” His hands were warm, thumb caressing her shoulder. He chuckled, the sound like a storm in his chest. “I’ll bet you were, his arm was all fucked up too. Don’t worry, Bronte’s men got him-“ He shushed her when her breath hitched again at the mention of Bronte. “No, don’ worry about him, Effie, he was good for his word, he’s speakin’ to Dutch right now, we’re gettin’ you home- Jesus fuck, Effie you gotta calm down, I don’t-“

“She all right?” Bill’s voice. “I- I thought I got the knife away, is she…”

“Charles said it was just a scratch, nothin’ to worry about. Thanks, Bill, for stopping that son of a bitch.” 

She heard Bill spit. “Yeah, well, Charles was at the ready anyway. Aw, shit!” Another shuffle, a grunt. “Thought I recognized this guy. Pretty sure he’s one of them O’Driscolls.” Another pause. “Ah, _shit!_ He’s one of the ones that was hangin’ round Valentine, couple’a months ago.”

“Makes sense. Heard two talking inside, too. Bronte’s guys got those fellas.” Effie shivered. Two more in the house. This wasn’t a normal O’Driscoll play, scoping out a party, infiltrating another gang’s ranks. All to get to her.

“What, uh… what should I do with this guy?”

“Jus’ keep sittin’ on him, I guess.” Arthur was guiding her now, and she felt the edge of stone bench at the back of her knees. He lowered her to sit, not loosening his hold on her, shielding her. “Alright. You’re alright.” He patted her back awkwardly. “Can you, uh, try to breathe slower? Shit, uh. Deep breaths? Shhh. Come on, Effie, slow it down. Thatta girl.” Effie tried. Things were clearing up now, she could feel her body again, could feel the rapid shallow breaths that weren’t delivering air to her lungs, tried to slow herself. “Yeah, that’s better. You’re alright.” 

She was jostled as Arthur removed one arm, took something from his breastpocket. He pushed her away from his chest, and Effie flinched, squeezing her eyes shut instinctively. He wasn’t going to hurt her, she knew that, but the past and the present was still blurring together. She heard fabric rip, and Arthurs rough hands, looping something around her neck, against the stinging gash. Effie’s shaking hand rose to touch it, but Arthur pushed it gently back down. 

“Don’ worry, it’s jus’ a scratch like Charles said. Jus’ tryin’ to stop the bleedin’, is all. You’re alright.” His hands went to her shoulders, feeling her trembling. “Oh, here-“ A rustle of fabric as he removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. A strange giggle escaped her lips- damn it, it was still hot as hell out here, she was scared, not cold, the big idiot, but she left it, feeling somehow safer.

“Was that a laugh or-“ Arthur’s hands lifted her face to meet his. His face had been wrinkled with concern, but as she opened her eyes he relaxed, a smile spread across his face. A weak, worried, tired smile, but a smile nonetheless. “There you are, Effie. That’s my girl. You’re alright.”

“You’re talking to me like I’m your horse,” Effie managed, trying to return the smile.

“Aw, fuck.” Arthur let a deep breath out, wrapped his arm around her again. She let her head rest on his chest. Effie wiped at her face, finding it less wet that she’d expected- in the panic, it was as if she’d almost forgotten to cry. Her breaths were still accompanied by a deep shudder, as she tried to keep her breathing even, but at least her heart wasn’t beating out of her chest anymore. “You, uh, hurt anywhere else?” Effie shook her head. Arthur nodded. She could sense that he was uncomfortable, either from being this close or from not knowing how to comfort her, and normally that would cause her some kind of secondhand embarrassment. Tonight, well, she was kind of past that now. 

A few feet over, Effie heard a slap and Bill snarled, “Don’t you even _fucking_ think about it-“

“Language.” Van der Linde’s voice seemed to come booming from the sky like thunder. Bronte was with him, red-faced and irate, backed by multiple guards. Arthur stood suddenly as they arrived, momentarily forgetting about Effie, and ended up catching her before she could lose her balance again.

Bronte snapped something at his men in Italian, and two of the larger ones went over to where Bill and Thomas were. Bill awkwardly shuffled off from straddling Thomas’ torso, and they picked him up from under the arms. Effie could see now what Bill had done to his face- even in the dark shadows he was painted with unmistakable stain of blood. One of his eyes was swollen completely shut, and he spat something white onto the ground. 

Bronte strode up to him, muttering rapidly in Italian. Thomas’ head lolled on his shoulder as he tried to understand him, and Bronte slapped him, the crack echoing. Van der Linde handed him a kerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood from his palm, and Bronte nodded thanks. 

“Miss Elwood,” Bronte said, nodding his head respectfully. His eyes glittered with anger, and he sighed. “Words cannot express how angry I am-“ his head snapped toward Thomas, “that you have been endangered while under my protection.” He turned, addressing van der Linde. “I advise you leave through this gate while your colleague has the mayor distracted. I fear that not many of Saint Denis’s hoity toity are privy to this sort of business.” 

“Bill, go find Charles and Sadie, get them ready to go,” van der Linde instructed, and Bill slipped away. 

Bronte looked at van der Linde curiously. “You’ve had people outside this party the entire time? I do not remember that being part of our agreement.” 

Van der Linde pulled two cigars from his lapel, offering one to Bronte. “Just in case, Mr. Bronte. No offense intended.”

Bronte chuckled and one of the men lit his cigar. He blew out smoke. “I suppose. We will look past it, then.” Arthur stiffened beside her as Bronte took a step forward. Bronte clapped Arthur on the shoulder. “Stand down, good man. I only wish to speak with Miss Elwood.” 

Behind Bronte, van der Linde nodded to Arthur, who removed his arm from around her cautiously. Bronte held out a hand to Effie. She took it, and Bronte raised her fingers to his lips. 

“I apologize profusely, Miss Elwood.” He kissed her fingers. Looking at him, he actually seemed genuine. He was using that tone of voice that he used to threaten her, but the intention had turned. “I had made a promise to you and Mr. van der Linde for your safety, and have failed to uphold it. You are now welcome to leave, and if there is any favor I may do to make up for my carelessness, I offer it to you.”

Bronte looked at her expectantly, and she felt her eyes dart straight at Thomas. He still half-stood there, supported by Bronte’s men, breathing noisily from his mouth as blood dripped from his nose. A favor. She could ask for anything, belay the offer over to van der Linde, but the anger from before had never fucking left. This man, pathetic and defeated as he was… she saw Nate in him. He had made her relive being under Nate’s control, if only for a few moments. She’d broken under it, reduced to blind panic. And she _hated_ him for it. 

Bronte raised his eyebrows, reading her expression. He said something in Italian to one of his men, who unsheathed a knife from his belt. Arthur started for a moment, but Effie sidestepped in front of him. The man handed the knife to Bronte, who held it out to Effie, handle first. 

“Effie, what…” Arthurs voice trailed off as she took the knife, feeling the weight of it in her hand. She stepped up to meet Thomas, feeling the edge of the blade with her thumb. A rush of power rose within her, sickening, exhilarating. One movement, and this man would be erased. Nate wasn’t a conscious decision. This choice… was hers, hers alone. Thomas, and everyone around them would know it was hers. 

“The whole time?” Effie muttered, then looked up at his face, glaring. His one good eye stared back, narrowed. 

He spat blood at her feet. Bronte’s men moved to act, but Effie glared at them too, and they stood down. “Nate saved my brother’s life, once.” 

Effie blinked, the knife feeling natural in her hand. She didn’t have control with Nate, not ever. But now, in this little moment, she could take back what Thomas had stolen. “Pity he can’t save yours now.”

She thrust the blade into Thomas’ neck nearly to the hilt, holding tight. He choked, his shoulders writhing against the grips of Bronte’s men as they held his arms fast. Effie didn’t break eye contact as his eye went wide with disbelief. Blood appeared at his lips, began to stain the collar of his white shirt, warming her hand and wrist, trickling down her forearm. His body jerked, and slowly that one eye went dull, and he was lip in the guard arms. 

Effie yanked knife out of his neck, bringing about a fresh spurt of blood, wiped the blade clean on her dress, handed it back to Bronte. Handle first. 

“The body part of the favor?” She asked. Her own voice sounded strange in her ears. Thomas' blood dripped from her fingertips. 

Bronte smiled, handing the knife back to his guard and offering the same handkerchief given to him by van der Linde. “Certainly.” He looked Effie up and down, differently than he had before. “If you are ever looking for future employment, Miss Elwood… we could use a woman like you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bronte.” She turned to van der Linde, who was also staring at her, the hint of a smile under his moustache. She looked away, wiping at her arm with the handkerchief. “I would like to go home now.”

Van der Linde bowed his head. “That you will. Arthur, would you be so kind as to accompany Miss Elwood back to camp? I have some dealings to tie up with Hosea.” He stuck out his hand to Bronte. “I look forward to more business with you in the future, Mr. Bronte.”

Bronte shook, smiling toothily. “As do I. Now get your lot out of here, before someone notices.”

Van der Linde nodded to Arthur, and Arthur gingerly tapped her shoulder. Effie gave Bronte a final nod, and finally went through the goddamn gate.

As soon as they were obscured by the brush outside the mayor’s wall, Arthur pulled Effie aside, putting his hands on her shoulders. 

“What the _fuck_ was that, Effie,” Arthur demanded, voice hushed. He looked angry.

Effie wasn’t sure what to say- that she was furious? That more than anything, she wanted Thomas to die by her hand for making putting her in that mental state? It sounded ridiculous, like a child throwing a tantrum, but the more she thought about it, she knew she’d do it again. But then why was Arthur mad? He didn’t fucking know Thomas who had played with her all this time, who was ready to hand her back over to the O’Driscolls- hell, he _was_ an O’Driscoll, Bill even said. She must’ve been staring off, because Arthur shook her lightly. 

Effie glared at him. “Don’t fucking shake me.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, and he pressed his lips together. “Effie, you killed that man. He was beaten, Bronte was gonna punish him, you know that-“

“Maybe I was the one that wanted to do it.” She tried to pull out of his grasp, but he held fast. “Let go of me.”

“Effie.” His voice was firm, brow furrowed. “Effie, if this was about revenge, or something-“

She grabbed onto one of his wrists, her fingers still stained red, staring him in the eyes. “You don’t fucking know what those men have done to me. Don’t look at me like that,” she said, unaware that her voice was starting to shake. She could feel the tears now, but she stubbornly blinked them back. “You don’t know what they fucking did, Arthur, and you can’t goddamn say he didn’t get what was fucking coming to him-“

“Effie, I know you’re angry, but-“

“Of course I’m fucking angry,” she spat. “I’m angry because you fuckers left me for dead and now you’re all surprised that I’m pissed off?” She felt a tear sneak its way from the corner of her eye, and gritted her teeth. “All I’ve wanted for weeks is to go fucking home, but I’ve been stuck surrounded by men like _you_ and you don’t know _what men like you have fucking done to me.”_

She said something wrong, she could tell by the way Arthur’s face fell. His grip on her shoulder’s loosened, and she shrugged him off, wiping at her cheeks.

“I just want to go back now,” she finished quietly, suddenly feeling tired. Some of the weight was off her shoulders from the outburst, but it was almost like she’d kicked a puppy, seeing Arthur’s expression change like that. 

Arthur ran a hand down his face. “Alright. We’ll do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks yall for all the support :) even if its just lil ol me trying to have some fun lol


	23. if ever there were a lucky kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Effie become best buds. Arthur gets tipsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I know the chapter title is also the fic title. That's just coincidence. I'm goin off song lyrics like a basic bitch, yall :P  
> AnYwAy

Effie opened her eyes to a storm of morning insect chirping and a cool, humid mist layering the ground. Her body was sore, she was uncomfortable. She raised an arm, looked at her hand, fingers splayed. Rust colored smudges still lingered on the back of her hand, under her fingernails.

So it hadn’t been a dream, then. 

She’d stabbed Thomas. In the neck. His blood had flowed down her hand, dripped from her arm.

She sat, repeating the event in her mind. The knife. His wide eyes. The rush of blood. Yes, it had certainly happened. But she didn’t really feel anything about it at the moment, not shame, not satisfaction. It was something that she had done.

She wondered if she should’ve been feeling more.

Effie sat up, noticing that the crumpled green dress that Bronte had given her was gone. She’d shed it as soon as she got back to camp, changing into the pants and shirt that the gang had thankfully saved (well, Sadie had adopted them, but given them back) and passing out in her bedroll immediately. The place they were in now was bigger- an actual house now, ringed by tall cypress trees draped with Spanish moss. She’d elected to sleep outside though, next to the ever-present smoke of the campfire, letting the scent cover up all the weird smells from her time with Bronte, letting it keep away the mosquitoes. She didn’t really want to spend a night enclosed by four walls, not quite yet. It was the late morning- they’d led her sleep in, working carefully around her as to not disturb her. Effie wondered if anyone had said anything. Effie’s back at camp, keep a wide berth- she just stabbed a guy, whatever happened at Bronte’s turned her crazy…

Effie crossed her arms over her head, blocking out the sun. That meant what she’d said to Arthur was true. Compared him to Nate, Thomas. And she didn’t mean it. At least, she wasn’t sure if she meant it- he had everything that those two had. The easy charm, kindness and softness on the surface. Cold killers beneath. She knew Arthur had that in him, too. She’d seen him after he’d killed people, unfazed, willful. But maybe he wasn’t like them… maybe he could… she didn’t know, divide those two parts of himself? Maybe he’d never turn that other side to people he cared about? 

With a sinking feeling, she realized he might not even know what she meant, about men like him. She’d never told him about Nate. Had barely told anyone, apart from those who had figured it out themselves, like Grimshaw and Sadie. Maybe she should. Maybe if she did, some of the anger would disperse a little. Maybe she’d have someone at her back, who would understand that there were ways that she couldn’t be touched, or spoken to, or names she couldn’t be called. At the back of her head, though, a little voice kept urging- what if they didn’t? What if they didn’t believe her, or think she was only saying to gain sympathy or something else? What if they started to pity her, treat her like a little broken thing? Not that she wasn’t, but she was far past the point of needed soothing words and a shoulder to cry on. If she could’ve had that years ago, maybe things would’ve turned out different. 

“Hey, Effie?” A gruff voice asked. 

Effie moved her arm just enough to see a dark silhouette standing in front of her expectantly. She pushed herself up from the soft ground, brushing her hair out of her face- she paused as her fingers hit her now-tangled and ruined updo, but didn’t catch on the pink feather. Must’ve fallen during the scuffle, she thought, disappointed. 

Bill stood in front of her, strangely looking sheepish. It wasn’t a look she had seen on him often- he was usually stoic. Or angry. Or drunk. But not sheepish. He clutched his arm awkwardly, not meeting her eye. 

“Sorry to wake ya, it’s just…” He moved his hand, revealing a red-stained bandage wrapped around his arm. “Wanted to let ya sleep before you had to deal with this.”

 _Shit._ Thomas. The fight. The knife. Her fingers went instinctively to her neck, feeling the cut there, long but shallow. She should’ve seen to him that night, but she was too worried and scared and confused for her own reasons. Was the whole reason she was let into this camp in the first place, and as much as she’d promised that she’d do better now that she was back, she was already failing. 

“You should’ve woken me up,” Effie said, dazed. She got to her feet, only to be disoriented; she’d forgotten for a moment that she was somewhere new, and that most of her medical supplies would be tucked somewhere else- they thought she was dead, after all-

“All your stuff’s over on the table over there, Grimshaw got it out,” Bill said, apparently noticing her looking around frantically. “She didn’t want to wake you either.”

“Thanks.” She started toward the table set in the center of camp, not waiting for Bill. “If someone’s hurt, just come get me wherever I am.” 

“Uh. Okay.” Bill plopped himself onto one of the wooden seats and shrugged out of one sleeve of his shirt, revealing the wound underneath. It was wrapped tightly in what seemed to be another necktie, just as her neck was, but soaked all the way through with blood. Bill barely flinched as she used scissors to cut the necktie off, finding a four-inch gash still oozing blood. 

Effie’s brow furrowed and she began to clean it, not even registering Bill’s sharp hiss of pain as the alcohol hit his flesh. It was pretty deep- obviously, he’d been fucking stabbed. She’d seen worse, definitely. Wasn’t anything like a gunshot wound or a broken limb, and thank god; if the knife had sliced through any important arteries or veins, Bill would’ve been in much deeper shit for waiting this long to have her fix it up. 

“Ya know, I’m sorry,” Bill said. Almost reluctantly. Effie’s eyes flickered to his face for a moment- it was red, he was looking away, he looked almost ashamed- but she went back to what she was doing. “I, uh.” He took a deep breath. “’S my fault in Rhodes. Brought everyone into town. Shoulda figured out it was a setup. I thought you’d gotten killed.”   
Effie gave him a noncommittal shrug. 

“I don’t know if you’ve been in many shootouts, but ya see they go real quick.” He snapped his fingers with his free hand. “All about instincts and reflexes and shit. If you blink for a second, dead. So uh. When ya fired that first shot…” He sighed. “Well, I mean, Sean would be dead, for sure. Probably more of us.” He scratched at his beard. “I thought you got killed by them Braithwaites, and… well, to be completely honest, I was kinda relieved, you know. Stop lookin’ at me like that, I ain’t done. ‘Cause I thought in my head, well now that she’s gone, I don’t gotta think about thanking her or nothin’, because there’s no one to say that to. And I’d be fuckin’ embarrassed, because… because…” His voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. “But then we all found out you were still alive, and… I don’t know. I didn’t wanna owe you anything.” 

Effie worked in silence for a few minutes, trying to concentrate on her stitching, not on what Bill was saying. Mainly because she didn’t know how she was supposed to react. Was this a thank-you? An apology? She had no clue. 

Bill cleared his throat and went on. “I’ll uh, try to keep Micah off your back. Won’t tread on your toes none, either.” He laughed awkwardly. “Hate to get shot when the doc hates me, ya know?”

Effie still didn’t respond, half still focused intently on trying to put his skin back together, but half because she really didn’t know what to do. She’d never expected Bill to come to her rescue in the first place like he did back in the mayor’s garden, never expected to be relieved to see his face when he appeared from behind that hedge. Didn’t expect him to thank her for Rhodes, or apologize for how he treated her earlier. Most of all, she didn’t expect him to seem sincere about it. Effie kept her mouth shut as she finished up, scared that if she replied she’d somehow fuck up the stalemate they were now at, wrapping the wound in fresh bandages. 

“Keep this clean, I’ll change the bandages if you need me to. Tell me if it opens up or the stitches rip.” Effie said, finally taking her hands from his arm and swiftly wiping down h  
er supplies with alcohol, cleaning up. More and more it seemed like if she prolonged the encounter any longer, its effects would reverse and she’d be back to avoiding his side of the camp at all costs. 

To her relief, Bill seemed to think the same thing and left with a grunt and a nod. 

Strange start to the day. Then again, things had been pretty fucking strange for a while.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Sean had, of course, decided to pass drinks around that night to celebrate Effie’s return. He’d gotten Javier tipsy first; a strategic move, since as soon as he had some drink in him he would start strumming that guitar of his, and everyone else would start to congregate, pass around the booze. 

Arthur stayed back from the circle that had formed around the campfire, his mood still sour. It was hypocritical for him to keep thinking back to last night. Effie. The knife. How could he judge her for killing someone, especially someone who had meant to hurt her? It twisted his insides to think about it, her feeling angry enough to stab someone in the throat… he’d done it many times, of course, but with Effie, he couldn’t help feeling that it was different, that he should’ve prevented it in some way. And then there was what she’d said afterward. That he didn’t understand. That men like him were the ones that did this to her, caused her to murder someone in cold blood. Equating him to that guard or Nathaniel Grant. Hell, Kieran had even said that Grant was Colm’s version of himself; he knew Grant had hurt her, and done something terrible, so it was only natural that Effie think of him the same. Hell, he was probably capable of the same if he wanted to be. But he couldn’t imagine ever laying a finger on that girl, and the thought of anyone else doing that made him clench his jaw. 

He leaned against a thick cypress tree, took a swig from his bottle, beginning to feel a bit of a buzz. Arthur didn’t realize he was staring until Effie met his eyes briefly, sending a jolt of embarrassment down his spine. She looked away just as quickly, determined not to meet his eyes again. She had avoided him all day, and Arthur did the courtesy of returning the favor. If she didn’t want to be around him, then fine. That was her decision, and the best he could do was respect it. 

But damn it. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders, scream at her. If she kept going down the path she had stepped foot on last night, the path of anger and killing and violence that was all Arthur had ever known- she’d end up just like him. She was already a murderer, sure. But maybe he could prevent her from being a monster.

“Arthur, why don’t you join the party?” 

He felt Hosea’s reassuring hand on his shoulder, felt tiny bit of the tension in his shoulders disperse at the touch. He took another swig. “Don’t wanna bring the mood down.” 

“That Effie botherin’ you again?”

“No,” Arthur replied stubbornly, but Hosea had known him for twenty years. He could read him like a book. 

“Hm.” Hosea leaned alongside him, sipping from his own bottle. “Dutch told me what happened while I was distracting the mayor. Surprisingly pleasant fellow, by the way. You made a good impression on him.” 

“To be honest, I barely r’member talking to him.” 

Hosea chuckled. “Give yourself some credit.” They listened to Javier sing for a while, the sound faded from the distance, mixing into the chirping of night insects. “I sense you disapprove of Miss Elwood’s choices last night.” Arthur didn’t answer, but he felt Hosea look at him and smile.

“What’cha grinnin’ about? She killed a man,” Arthur mumbled into his drink, more to himself than to Hosea, but the older man heard anyway.

“In self defense.”

“He was unarmed and restrained.” Arthur could sense Hosea trying to twist the situation, make him think differently, draw new conclusions or whatnot. It had been a long time since Hosea used that trick on him. Hosea always insisted that Arthur was smarter than he believed, but whenever he did this, he always just ended up more confused. 

“Maybe not to her.” 

“It was over,” Arthur pushed back. “She won.”

“Oh, Arthur.” Hosea sighed. “There’s no winning in her scenario, not like that.”

“What’chu mean?” He was getting that weird tingle, the kind when he knew he was the only one not in on a secret. 

“Just something I’ve inferred.” Hosea coughed. 

“I know Grant didn’t do right by her,” Arthur said defensively. 

“You’re smarter than that, Arthur, and you know it.” 

Arthur gritted his teeth. He knew what Hosea implied. Was something that he’d always tried not to think about. It felt wrong and intrusive, assuming that that man had ever laid a hand on her, imagining her crying out in pain, imagining the shapes of the bruises that would mark her skin. Would probably look something like the night they’d met down in that godforsaken basement- no. He pushed the image out of his mind, the one where her cheekbone was mottled dark purple, her eye swollen shut, dried blood still under her nose. It felt wrong, somehow to remember that picture of her, indecent…

“You want me to say something to her,” Hosea said, breaking the silence. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Never asked you do.”

“You want me to, though.” Hosea sipped. “But I won’t. That girl…” He paused, thinking. “She’s had a rough go. Rougher than most. And she’s never been able to make a decision of her own without some man influencing it. I don’t see why we don’t let her do that now.”

“She killed a man.”

“You kill people all the time, and you’ve turned out alright, no matter what you think, son.” Arthur scoffed, and Hosea put a hand on his shoulder again. “Don’t tell her what to do, Arthur. She’s had that from men all her life.” Men like you, her voice rang in his head. “Just be there when she falls.” 

“That’s terrible advice, Hosea.”

Hosea shrugged. “We don’t live in a normal world, Arthur. As much as they should, normal rules don’t always exactly apply to us.”

“And what if she turns out like Micah?”

Hosea shook his head, smiling. “With the company she keeps? Impossible.” He grinned further as Arthur’s brow furrowed. Handed the rest of his own bottle to Arthur. “Oh, come on, Arthur. Go join the party. Be happy. Be there.”

Hosea amicably punched him lightly on the shoulder, setting off toward the campfire with another word. God damn him. Why couldn’t he just speak goddamn clearly for once? Just tell it like it is, without playing games with Arthur’s head- damn it, he couldn’t keep up. He brought his bottle to his lips, finding it was nearly empty. He drained it, tossed it to the side- he froze for a moment, afraid that he’d hit a gator hiding in the brush, but there was no hissing response. Hosea’s had a good deal left- fuck, that burned, that was something stronger than beer.

Over at the campfire, Effie’s head was tilted back as she laughed, sitting between Sean and Lenny. Well, at least she looked happy. A stark contrast to the wide-eyed panic, the shaking voice of the other night. It had scared him to see her like that; at least from what he could remember, she had been calm and determined back in the basement, cool and levelheaded while stitching up Cain, or shooting the Lemoyne Raiders that had ambushed them back near Clemens Point. He’d never seen a crack in the façade like that. But now it was as if nothing had happened, as if she had never been away from the gang. So maybe Hosea was right. She could sort things out, make her own decisions, and that would lead to her happiness. Don’t yell fire if there’s no smoke, Arthur told himself, and started toward Pearson’s tent for another beer. He already had a good buzz, but after some thinkin’ like that, it wasn’t quite enough.

He found Charles by the wagon, browsing through the various bottles of liquor that had been left about. Arthur grabbed the whiskey out of his hands, taking a long swig. 

“Any more of that Braithwaite moonshine?” Arthur said, voice hoarse as it burned with the booze. He paused. “Why you smell like soap, Charles?”

“Everyone needs to bathe now and again, Arthur. Thought you’d have learned that from Grimshaw by now.” 

Arthur chuckled, taking another gulp. “Yeah, but why now, of all times?” 

Charles gave a long, glaring look and a smile crossed Arthur’s face. There he was, the kid. A bright feeling sprung up inside him, suddenly. An idea, maybe a slightly drunk one, but an idea at that. A good kid. Deserved a fine girl. Just so happened a fine girl could use someone like him, too. 

Charles rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Arthur. Never going to happen.” 

“But you got all nice and sudsy for it, didn’t you?” Arthur laughed as Charles made a face. Arthur leaned against the wagon, looking at Charles expectantly. Charles was leaned against the wagon himself, narrowed his eyes, but didn’t leave. Arthur’s mind backpedaled suddenly- shit, he actually wanted to talk, that was unexpected. And that was quite a bit of whiskey he’d just downed. “Come on, Charles. ‘S on your mind?”

Charles chewed his lip, looking for an answer. “Do you remember me tellin’ you and John that sometimes if feels like I’m only alive to suffer?”

“You were pretty fucked up that night.”

Charles shook his head. “I wasn’t though. Was the truth. But ever since Effie’s been in camp, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve felt different. ‘Bout the world. In general. I just… I just don’t really know what to do now.”

Arthur scoffed. “You definitely came to the wrong person for that. Had two women in my life, one ended up dead, one just about wishes I was.” 

“You know Effie, though.”

Arthur scoffed again. “Might add another one to last list on the ‘wishin’ I was dead’ front.” He put up a hand to stop Charles, although Charles hadn’t even opened his mouth. “Don’t worry, ain’t nothin ever happenin’ like that between me an’ Effie, she’s too young and I ain’t a good man.” At this point, Charles’ eyes narrowed and he looked about to speak, Arthur kept his hand up. “You, on the other hand. You’s a good fella.”

The confused look shifted to one of amusement. “You’re drunk, Arthur.”

“Sure.”

“Something on your mind, too?” 

Arthur took a swig and smiled. “Look at us. Talkin’ bout feelings like a couple’a women.”

“World would probably be better off if more men did.”

Arthur clinked his bottle against Charles’. “Ain’t that true.”

They drank.

“I take it your issue’s with Effie too, seeing as she’s now on the list of women that hate you?” Charles asked.

Arthur nodded. “You heard about how she turned out that fella at the party?” Charles nodded. “Was in the right state of mind to chide her about it right after. Her doin’ somethin’ like that, jus’ don’t seem right. Thought I could… I dunno, sort her out or somethin’.”

“That’s pretty hypocritical for you to say.”

Arthur waved a hand. “Yeah, I fuckin’ know that now, but I still… can you talk to her?”

“And say what?” Charles laughed. 

Arthur grabbed for words. “That… killin’… is bad?” he tried, and Charles snorted. “Oh come on, Charles, you know what I’m gettin’ at.”

“You know killings the only reason any of us are alive? Her included.” Charles took a deep drink. “That’s just the way our world is. You seem to think that somehow she isn’t one of us, but she is more than you want to accept.”

“I jus’… I jus’ think she could have a better life than any of us-“

Charles shook his head. “That’s Jack you’re thinking of. Jack, we can give him a better life than us, because he’s still got all the years ahead of him to grow up and be… I don’t know, a rancher, or a shop owner or a writer or something. But you, me, Effie? That point has long passed, and we’ve just gotta learn how to live with how we are and what we’ve done.”

Arthur stared at the bottle in Charles’ hand, which, from what he could tell, was as empty as his own . “Wish I had tolerance like you.”

Charles smiled, eyes reflecting the light. “ _That_ point has passed for you, too, Arthur.” 

“So it has.” 

There was a whoop from over by the campfire as Javier kicked up a new song, more upbeat. Charles’ eyes flickered toward the noise. 

“Go over there,” Arthur told him. “Show your face or whatnot, make sure she didn’t forget it. Plus ya took a bath, might as well put it to good use.” 

“Comin’ with?”

Arthur shook his head. “Pretty sure I’d sour the mood if she saw me, I want you to have the best shot you can.”  
“Oh, come on, Arthur,” Charles protested, and Arthur spun him by the shoulders to direct him toward the campfire. “It’s not even going to be like tha-“

There was a large cheer and scattered clapping from the fire circle. Charles stopped short, Arthurs push sending them stumbling a little. 

Outlined in the flickering light was Sean, Effie dipped nearly backwards in his arms, her hands framing his face, their faces locked together in a kiss while the gang whooped and hollered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kind words and comments, yall keep me goin!!!


	24. its you, you, you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Effie has many talks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLA WARNINGS HERE
> 
> The first section is fine. Some good Sean fluff. A bit of explanation. That kiss tho ;)
> 
> AFTER THE BREAK:   
> DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, ASSAULT WARNINGS  
> I've flanked the yucky bits with a double row of xxxxxxx so you can skip over it if you need to. I'll summarize the section at the end of chapter notes in a nicer way.
> 
> So if these warnings are something that matter to you- PLEASE skip over the section with the X!

It was late afternoon by the time Sean finally approached her again, hat in his hand, face nearly as red as his hair. Effie barely looked up from sewing a patch in Hosea’s coat before speaking. 

“You gonna tell me what the hell that was last night?” she asked.

He had kissed her. The son of a bitch had kissed her- well, it might’ve been partly her, she didn’t know. It was just that he was drunk, and she was definitely slightly more than tipsy, and everyone was clapping along with Javier’s music, and they were dancing, and then… and then it just happened. With a dip and everything, the heat of the fire against her back, his hand around her waist. And it was a good kiss, from what she recalled. And she kissed back. But then suddenly it was… missing something, and when he broke away, something had changed in his face, and he disengaged from the position and the dance and then the campfire as a whole while the rest of the gang whooped and cheered. He’d left her confused and drunk and dizzy at the foot of the fire, not seeing him for the rest of the night. Wherever he went, she didn’t know. 

And then the more she thought about it, she got angry and she didn’t know why. It didn’t help that her last thought before she fell asleep was that it was her first kiss since Nate.   
In other words, she was in a bit of a mood.

Sean settled at the table across from her. Ran a hand through his hair, which just made it stick up even more. The scar on the side of his head shone shiny and pink, the skin still brand new. 

“It was a mistake,” he finally said. 

She looked at him. “Ya think?” she said, deadpan. It was a mistake, for sure. But it still hurt a little for him to say that, like a little punch to the gut. 

Sean groaned and ran a hand down his face. “It- I…” he sighed. “Fuck. Alright. I’m going to do this right, now.” He didn’t seem to notice as Effie raised her eyebrows. “Miss Effie, I sincerely apologize for, uh, kissing you. For not getting your permission, I mean. I mean, I don’t _regret_ it- well, I do, but it was a good kiss, Miss Effie, and I certainly don’t mean-“  
Effie put the sewing down and faced him. He was making a constipated face, one that gave away that he was trying to spill something big, but also that he was reluctant to do it. 

“Spit it out, Sean.”

He gave her a weak smile, began fiddling with a scrap of fabric Effie had discarded. “You’re a wonderful girl, Miss Effie, jus’ grand, ya know. But, um.” He cleared his throat. “Before you came here, I uh.” He looked around nervously. “I kinda had a thing with Karen. I wasn’t sure how serious it was, see, and then you came to camp, and-“

Effie raised her eyes again, saying nothing.

He looked up, his eyes wide. “I’m not saying- well, I am a bit of a whore, I don’ deny that- but, well…” His face grew even redder. “You’re quite the lady, Miss Effie. I swear on my right but cheek that half the fellas in this camp were trippin’ over ya when ye got here. I’m serious,” he added when Effie rolled her eyes. “So, um, yeah. Skip over the bits where you were gone and stuff. I didn’ mess around with Karen or nothin’, I swear, if that matters to you. But, when I kissed ye- completely rudely and without permission, I must admit- I…” His voice trailed off, confused. “I don’t know. I wanted to see Karen and tell her it was nothin’, was my first thought. No offense intended, Miss Effie, it’s just…” He looked up, sheepishly, a tiny, dopey little smile at the edge of his mouth. “I’d been scared of how I felt about Karen, I guess. And when you got here, I mean, ppffffh.” He gestured to her. “Yer a grand girl, Miss Effie, and I didn’t think I was the type to settle down anytime soon. But I… I think I might want to someday. With Karen.”

Effie blinked. Those words had come rushing out of his mouth like rapids, like he’d rehearsed it. Wasn’t exactly what she was expecting. How was she supposed to know what had happened before she'd even joined the van der Lindes? A weird mixture of feelings had filled her too: flattery, embarrassment, and relief. A hell of a ton of relief. A part of her had always been aware of Sean’s attention, his intentions, but she’d unconsciously forced that to the back of her mind. Hell, there were other things going on, like trying to fucking survive the O’Driscolls and Bronte and everyone else who seemed out to get her. Any kind of… of romance- she cringed at the word- it just didn’t seem like it would happen anytime soon. Or ever again, after Nate. So Sean’s flirting and attention had just been pushed back for her to think about later, but she never did. Until last night, and then she had far too much to think about. But the main thought was reluctance- she didn’t want it. Not now, if ever. There just wasn’t enough of her to share just yet.

“Alright,” she found herself saying. 

Sean bit his lip, but then a wicked smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Now, ye ain’t gonna stab me or nothin’, are ya?” He laughed as Effie glared at him. “I’m jus’ jokin’, Miss Effie. ‘nless you really are going to stab me. Then I’m happy you’re holdin’ a needle and not a knife.”

Effie flumped the sewing onto her lap, glaring, but that dopey smile was there, and she fought against the muscles of her own face, the corners of her lips trying to curl up. Sean could tell, because he broke out into a full grin.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Effie said finally, forcing herself to break eye contact and continue sewing Hosea’s jacket. 

He kept the grin. “Aye, I know.” 

Effie sewed awkwardly for a few minutes while Sean continued to sit there. 

“Thanks for Rhodes,” he said, breaking the silence. Effie froze, the back of her neck prickling. “Saved my life, you did.” Effie looked up, chewing her cheek, gaze flickering to the long scar that ravaged the side of his head, ruined his ear. His eyes were soft, earnest. “I’d rather be lookin’ like this than dead, Miss Effie.”

Effie looked down hurriedly. “I don’t know if Karen would like your hair.”

He ran a hand across his head, ruffling the red that stuck up every which way. “Add insult to injury, why don’t you. Grimshaw weren’t that patient trying to put my head back together with how long it used to be.”

“For the record, I’d probably cut it too. Just to annoy you, though.”

“Ye bastard.” Effie allowed a smile to break away, and Sean chuckled. “I’m glad you’re back and not dead, Effie.” 

“Glad you’re not dead too, Sean.”

“Oh, I’ve got somethin’ for ya, too,” he said, rummaging into his satchel. He pulled out her hat- pretty crumpled in some spots from being his bag, but the same one she thought she’d left at Bronte’s. He slid it across the table to her. 

“Did think I’d see this again.” She tried to straighten out a crease in the brim. “How’d you get it back?”

“Broke into that bastard Bronte’s place and took it back.” Effie raised her eyebrows and Sean laughed. “Kidding. Dutch picked it up before he left Saint Denis last night.”

Her eyebrows stayed raised. That felt strange, that act of kindness. True, the man had been as kind as she’d expected, letting her stay with them. But she never got the impression he particularly liked her. “He did?”

Sean shrugged. “Yeah. Your gun and a few books are in the back of the wagon, still. Didn’t particularly feel safe handing you a gun before I apologized, though. You’re all cutthroat now.” She glared at him again, and he smirked. “I don’ think there’s anythin’ wrong with that. Find that particularly attractive in a lady.”

“Like Karen?” Effie said, teasing. 

He laughed. “Ye got me there. That woman could kill me six ways from Sunday and I’d prolly say thanks.” He bit his lip suddenly, thinking. “Would it be weird if- if I asked you for advice sometimes?”

“Advice?”

He blushed. “Well, if my stupid idea to settle down and get old is going to go, I know beans about treatin’ a lady proper. Fancy like, and…” He raised his hands, half shrugging, half gesturing toward her.

Effie smirked. “I’m really not the best person for that.”

“Yer a lady, aren’t ya?”

Effie nearly snorted. “Only lasting relationship I ever had was with Nate, and that was…” She bit her tongue and gave him a weak smile. “I don’t know about those things.”

“Ah. Shit. Sorry.” Sean rubbed a hand across his unkempt hair. “Well, I mean- there’s always time for that, you know, if Karen don’t work out…” He held up his hands to defend himself as Effie smacked him. “Was jus’ jestin’, tryna keep the mood light-“

“You don’t need to keep my mood light,” Effie defended. “I’m fucking light and fluffy all the time.”

“Like a panther, maybe- shit, stop it, you madwoman!”

…………………………………………………………………..

 

“Arthur.”

It was now nighttime, the thick air finally broken by a cool evening breeze, night frogs and insects chirping incessantly. 

Arthur had been avoiding her all day. Which didn’t surprise her, considering how badly she’d fucked up the last time they’d spoken- the night of the mayor’s party. But she was noticing him avoiding her. He wasn’t particularly sneaky about it, no moves like the cold, calculated hunter. No, he’d just be walking, see her in that general direction, and stop in his tracks, immediately turning the other way. Like a deer in the path of a train. It was honestly pathetic, and every time he turned away from her she got a pang in her gut, knowing it was her fault. She didn’t mean what she said. He didn’t know what she meant. And she knew… she knew that if she told him what she was so afraid of, that maybe he’d understand, maybe forgive her for what she said. But that wasn’t the only reason she needed to tell him. She needed to tell him because it had consumed her the other night, changed how she thought, how she acted. She needed to… to… to get it out of her. 

Arthur turned, nearly flinching when he saw her behind him. 

Effie cleared her throat. “Arthur, I-“

He put up a hand, cutting her off, which frightened her for a moment. Was he going to brush her off, make up some shitty excuse to not talk to her? But instead he sighed and said, “If you’re gonna apologize or somethin’, I should do it first. I don’t have any business tellin’ you what to do, Miss Effie, so if you wanna…” He wrinkled his nose, as if he was trying to thing of different words. “… I dunno, stab people, I don’t got any business judgin’ you or nothin-“

Effie blinked at him. “That’s… you don’t have to apologize, Arthur, I’m the one who did wrong here.”

“No, Effie, it’s perfectly alright-“

This time Effie cut him off. “Look, I’m tryin’ to get somethin’ off my chest, and you keep stopping me, and at this rate I’m going to be all sorts of fucked up-“ she stopped herself and took a deep breath. “I said something to you that night, and I didn’t mean it. But I… want to explain to you what I meant.” She looked down, embarrassed. “I need to tell you what I meant, because I haven’t told anyone the whole thing yet, and I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen or it doesn’t matter anymore…” She looked up at Arthur, his face lined with worry. And surprise. A fear crept up on her suddenly, trying to tell her to keep her mouth shut. They didn’t need to know. They weren’t supposed to know. If they did, they’d treat her different, judge her. That fear almost made her walk away, but she was stopped by Arthur’s voice bringing her back. 

“We can go out in the swamp,” he offered. “We, uh, got a boat while you were gone. All the critters and stuff, no one will hear anything if you don’t want them to.” 

Effie nodded and he lead her to the rickety old dock next to Shady Belle. A wooden boat, old but well-kept, probably bought from one of the folk in the bayou, sat at the edge. Thick green algae wiggled with the slight ripples where it met the water. Arthur got in first, held out a hand to help her in, and he rowed them out a little, away from the house. It was a moonless night, lit only by stars and the lanterns and fires at the camp, which grew smaller as they rowed further out. Soon any leftover sounds of the gang- Pearson’s cooking, Tilly’s snoring- had been completely droned out by the sounds of frogs and crickets. The cool breeze of the night mercifully kept away most of the mosquitoes, but every now and then Effie had to wave a hand by her ear, swatting away a high-pitched buzz. Arthur finally stopped, letting the boat drift, leaving a dark trail where it cut through the algae. 

“Kinda spooky out here,” Effie said, breaking the silence. Her voice felt too loud. 

Arthur clicked his tongue. “Shoulda brought a lantern.”

“Sorry.” 

“Don’ worry about it, my fault. I could go back and get one…”

“It’s fine.” 

Now was her time to talk, but it still felt like there was a barrier preventing from doing so, something that kept her teeth clenched tight. It took effort for her to open her mouth and speak.

“ _’Men like you’_ is what I said. I… I didn’t mean it that way, or whatever way you think. It was… I… I meant…” Her voice drifted off and died as she tried to think of what to say. She didn’t know how to start. Arthur waited patiently as she sat there, fumbling for words. The beginning. Maybe not the very beginning. She still had to sort that out yet. But the beginning that mattered right now.

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“Couple’a years ago. I wasn’t in a good place. My father had… well, I wasn’t traveling with him anymore. Was on my own. Just travelling around, doin’ odd jobs where I could keep my clothes on. Helped out a couple town doctors till they didn’t need me. Spent a lot of my money on drinks. It got bad and I… I didn’t know what to do anymore. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t have anyone. 

Then I was in some bar, can barely remember when now. Someone comes down the road shootin’, so I hid behind the bar. The guy they were shootin’ at was Nate, as you could probably guess. Came in looking for cover, joined me behind the bar. Bleedin’ from his chest, had a bullet wound in there and I…” She sniffed. “Well, I helped him out, and then the rest of his buddies found us. He sweet-talked them into letting me stay with him, look over the wound and everythin’. Sweet talked me, too. Told myself it was my duty as a… a doctor or whatever the fuck I do, to take care of the patient, but really I… I don’t know. He was just… worse off than me, at the moment, and it felt right, and…” She couldn’t bring herself to mention the chemistry, the stupid way his dark eyes glimmered, gave her butterflies, how he always looked only at her face while she tended to him. 

“And so I stayed with the O’Driscolls. Me an’ Nate were… he convinced Colm to let me stay, take care of the boys. Would be how I earned my keep and stuff. I helped Nate get better, get his strength back. And it was good for a while.” She felt herself smiling sadly. “It was real good. He was kind, and we got our own tent like you do, own room depending on where we were.” Memories of the heat of his skin under blankets, his lips brushing past her ear. “It was real good.

He didn’t like sharin’ me with the other boys. Sharing my time, more like. Wanted me just to himself was all. And I wasn’t doing anything, just stitching up the boys when they got shot or stabbed.” She chuckled to herself. “Often it was by you guys, when they’d run into you. That’s why I was so scared. Made you all out to seem like monsters, you know?  
So anyway, he got his strength back. And he was strong. Really strong. At first I thought… I dunno, maybe he didn’t mean it. Didn’t know how strong he was. And he always apologized after, too. That was how it started, really. But then he started getting cross with me. First about big things, like when he was real stressed from Colm’s jobs and I burnt food or broke or spilled something, and he would… he’d… make sure that I knew to do better, next time. And it was my fault, all mine. But then he’d start getting angry at me for little things. Things I didn’t know I was doing. Or didn’t do. My tone of voice. If the floor got too dirty. If I was talking to one of the other boys without him there. And he’d get cross, and it would just get worse when I apologized, or if I cried, no matter what I did, and I really thought it was my fault at the time, you know? Like there was a way I could be better and then things would go back to how they used to be.”

The words were coming quicker now, flowing. She wiped a forearm across her face, feeling it come away wet. “And I loved him throughout the whole thing. I loved him and I hated myself. And no matter… no matter what he did, I would try to do better, but… it never went back to how it used to be. Sometimes I thought it did. A couple of days, a week, everything would be fine again, but then, no.”

“Then we were staying in a little abandoned settlement. Somewhere near where you ended up with me, but not the same place. Colm let me and Nate have a cabin to ourself, and I thought things would get better. And then he…” She gulped. “He just came in, and I could tell. I asked him what was wrong, and that was a stupid thing to do, because he pushed me against the wall. Was near the mantle of the fireplace, so the wall was all stone there, and I hit my head real hard. And he… he tried…” She took another deep breath, realizing that she was sweating, breathing too fast. The night was nearly the same inky black as his eyes, but when she closed her own, she saw his face, in that cabin. “He had his hands around my neck. And I was hurting bad, and I wanted it all to stop. I was so scared, Arthur. Somehow I’d reached at his belt and found his revolver and pulled the trigger.

I was aiming for his head. And I missed. But he… he let go of me and fell down, but he was still screaming at me, but…” His voice had been all wrong, the words not coming out right, instead a horrible sucking noise coming from the hole in his throat. 

“Evans heard the gunshot, came in.” She had tunnel vision now, her own voice, her own vision seeming far away. “You just about know the rest from there.” She wiped at her face again, her sleeve growing more damp. “So what I meant is… Nate, I thought he was kind. And then I knew him more and more, and he wasn’t. I thought it was me, but it wasn’t. He was a monster, and I thought I was the one that made him do those things.” She looked up, unable to make out Arthur’s expression though the tears and the darkness. “So when a man is… is nice, and sweet, and caring, and then he… he gets this look in his eyes and I know what he could do, it…” she sniffed. “It reminds me of him.”

 

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Arthur was silent for a few minutes, his face unreadable in the night. Effie simply sat and waited for a response, her throat tight, trying to control her breathing. If she let herself, she would break down completely like she did her first official night at camp. But she didn’t want to do that. The tears that had been streaming down her face the entire time she’d been talking were enough. She didn’t want to let Nate have any more of her. 

“Why the man in the garden?” He asked quietly. Not accusingly, just… quietly. 

Effie wiped her nose, took a breath. “He made me feel… it was like it was Nate all over again. I didn’t think I’d feel that ever again. I don’t want to feel like that ever again. It was like… I was taking some of it back.”

More silence, interrupted only by the intermittent call of frogs and night creatures, the odd lap of water against the boat.

“The Lemoyne Raiders,” he said suddenly, his voice low. 

“What?”

“’S when I first scared you. Did something like he did. Made you feel in that way again.” He looked up at her, his teeth seeming to glow white in a grimace. Effie nodded slowly, and he let out a sharp breath, a bitter laugh. He was quiet for a minute before he spoke again. “When, uh. When Colm got me, I was on the top of a hill. Supposed to be keeping lookout, supposed to be keeping everyone safe. They snuck up behind me, and I didn’t even know they were there. So when you and John were out shootin’ and they got me again, I…” He met her eyes. From what she could make out, they were that cold look again, but not hostile. Just… sad. Hurt. “I suppose I know how you felt. I’m sorry for sayin’ those things, Effie.”

She gave him a weak smile. “Me, too.” 

“Why me?” he asked. “You didn’t have to tell anyone about any of that.”

“I did,” Effie responded. “I needed to apologize to you and… I think it helped. I think I feel a little bit better. And you were the one in that basement with me. I feel like… if anyone would understand, it would be you.”

He put a hand on his shoulder, the first time he’d touched her since helping her into the boat. “You know we’re all here for you, Effie. Me, Sadie, Hosea. Miss Grimshaw. Sean. Charles. We’ve all had bad shit in our past. We’ve all done terrible things. But we’re a family, and you’re a part of it now too.” 

Effie let herself smirk a little. “Even Micah?”

Arthur chuckled. “Fuck Micah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of X bits: Effie tells Arthur the story of her and Nate, how their relationship started, progressed, and ended with her killing him.   
> Summary of second half if you skipped the whole part: Effie and Arthur apologize for being uncommunicative shits, they go somewhere private and talk about the above, why she stabbed Thomas, and why she said those things to Arthur at the mayor's place.


End file.
